


Freakshow

by CriseydetheTraitor



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Alternate Universe (Au); Aged Up Characters;, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Violet is 21
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:33:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 45,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25060948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CriseydetheTraitor/pseuds/CriseydetheTraitor
Summary: 1920s/30s Gangster AUAfter 5 years as a librarian in a sleepy town, Olivia Caliban decides to attend graduate school to study poetry at an elite university. There is a catch, however. The university only admits male students. Thus, Olivia must disguise herself as Oliver for the duration of the degree. The degree requires her to move to Mineral Springs, the corrupt, gangster-ridden town that houses the university. At the university, Olivia/Oliver studies under Jerome Squalor, one of the country's best poets, but does not expect to fall hopelessly in love with Mineral Springs in all of its tawdry glory and with Jerome's wife, Esme, who seems to be the personification of all that the town represents. After her affair with the town's chief gangster, Olaf McReggens, goes awry, Esme finds comfort in "Oliver's" arms, and Olivia must decide whether to pursue her degree or the desires of her heart. Is there a way to have both?
Relationships: Count Olaf/Esmé Squalor, Count Olaf/Georgina Orwell, Esmé Squalor/Jerome Squalor, Georgina Orwell/Esmé Squalor, Olivia Caliban/Esmé Squalor, Olivia Caliban/Jacquelyn Scieszka, Violet Baudelaire/Count Olaf
Comments: 9
Kudos: 20





	1. The Painful Party

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for checking out my work! The one note I want to make is about the Violet/Count Olaf relationship. I know Violaf is a very controversial pairing and rightly so. Since that pairing does play a brief role in this tale, I have aged Violet up to her early 20s as I don't feel comfortable writing a romance involving teenagers. Violaf is not an extremely significant part of this story, but the fact that it appears at all makes me feel that leaving this warning here is important. If the pairing still makes you extremely uncomfortable, this may not be the fanfiction for you.

It was a remarkably warm day, even for Mineral Springs. As Olivia wiped her sweat from her brow, she began to wonder whether working outside had been a good idea. Nevertheless, it was not a day on which there had been options; all of Red Light Brewery had been packed that afternoon, and Olivia had taken the last umbrella on the outside terrace. The air was thick and wet, mosquitos nipped hungrily at her legs despite her best efforts to spray them thoroughly, and, not for the first time, she wondered why Tinchlin University had to be in the southern part of the country.

But then, of course, heat suited Tinchlin and Mineral Springs, a town where scalding water bubbled beneath the ground, where high rollers, whores, and sultry schemers stalked the streets. Often, Olivia felt like an outsider watching the chaos, both thrilled and repulsed by all that she saw. She was ultimately an outsider. A year earlier, she had moved to Mineral Springs to study poetry at Tinchlin. After earning her bachelor's in English, she had spent five years as a librarian in Mooresville, the miserable town where she had grown up, and she was very pleased to be back in a university setting, even if her attendance of Tinchlin's elite program came with a price attached.

"Excuse me, sir," a friendly voice jolted Olivia out of her reverie, "I thought I'd offer you some more coffee. You look just about out." She glanced up to see Mary, one of the baristas at Red Light.

"Oh yes," Olivia responded, offering her cup for a refill, "Thank you. Sorry."

"It's not a problem!" Mary replied cheerfully, before returning to her other duties. _Sir_. Even after a year, Olivia had not managed to adjust to it. Although she carefully dressed and acted the part each day, she knew she would never feel like _Oliver_ after a lifetime of being Olivia. However, Tinchlin, like many of the country's most elite universities, only admitted men for study. Olivia had known she was a good enough poet to stand among the men at Tinchlin in the esteemed Masters of Fine Arts program there, but that she would never have the opportunity to pursue the degree as Olivia. Thus, a plan was hatched, one in which the young librarian resolved to don a disguise and to face a lifetime of publishing under the pseudonym Oliver Caliban. She was, based on what she had heard, not the first woman to sneak her way into Tinchlin. Sneaking in was, though, quite a rare occurrence, and Olivia was certain that no one had yet guessed at her true identity.

There were, of course, programs that would have allowed her to study without giving up her identity, but none of them were home to Jerome Squalor. Jerome was, perhaps, the most well regarded poet in the country; he was known for his wispy verse that floated like air, evoking the music of the Mineral Springs saxophones and bringing the city to life, but from a distance, as if too afraid to slide through the smog and see the town's underbelly. When she had learned, to her elation, that she had been accepted as one of Jerome's students, she had thought to model Oliver after Jerome's own famous style—pinstripe suit, fedora, black shoes so well maintained that they gleamed almost comically in the sunlight. Jerome looked like one of the gangsters that made regular appearances in his poetry, but, of course, he wasn't a gangster, not at all. That truth was at the heart of much of his work—that underneath the vivid imagery and entrancing rhymes, darkness was trembling, threatening to erupt into a volcano of disapproval and rage. Yet, there was balance in his poetry. As he wrote about Mineral Springs and its high rollers, its criminals, its colors, its madness, he carefully towed the line between disgust and delight, never capable of condoning the place but ever unable, it seemed, to condemn it either.

No doubt Jerome's inability to condemn the place and its madness had much to do with his wife, the indomitable Esme. Esme Squalor was the sort of creature that might inspire an ordinary man to write, even if, before encountering her, he never had any impulse to do so. There was music in every part of her: her infamous fashion sense-- which women often declared too bold initially before soon after essaying to emulate it, her smile, which made most who fell under it feel critically important, if only for a moment, the way she sang at Gertrude's on Saturday nights as the voice of Satan, or maybe God, slithered out from behind the veil of her large teeth. Jerome was far from the only man in Mineral Springs in love with her, though he was, Olivia felt certain, the one who loved her best. She was, in so many ways, Mineral Springs personified.

Incidentally, Olivia was planning on attending one of Jerome and Esme's parties that very evening. It was the first Friday in June, and Jerome was hosting an event to celebrate the MFA students who had just graduated the program and were embarking on their writerly lives. Olivia had just completed her first year of three, but she was still eager to attend the event, if only because the Squalors' parties were not to be missed.

Despite her best intentions, she could tell it was not going to be a day on which she would get much work finished. Olivia sighed, stretched, and made her way out of Red Light Brewery terrace and toward the lights of Bathhouse Lane.  
Olivia had always admired the Mineral Springs bathhouses, even though entering one was not an option, as doing so would jeopardize her disguise. All the same, they were a point of fascination for her, as, aside from gambling, the main reason people traveled to Mineral Springs was to visit them. Burning beneath the town was a fabled, natural spring that boasted, according to locals at least, magic water that could heal a number of devastating and serious illnesses. On more than one occasion, Olivia had wondered whether the spring water might have been able to cure her stubborn mother if the woman had been a bit more open minded.

Apart from the bathhouses, Bathhouse Lane was also marked by a number of bars and chic boutiques, ensuring that it was a bustling street both by both day and night. Olivia herself was renting an apartment on the top of Lucretia's Creamery, the best ice cream parlor on Bathhouse Lane. She had picked it for two reasons: the first was that she had always liked the thought of living above a shop as she believed, rightly or not, that doing so might serve as a balm for loneliness. The second reason was simpler: she enjoyed the view. From her second story window, she could look out onto Bathhouse Lane below and watch the residents of Mineral Springs scurrying about from place to place, she could look out and see the grand Talbot Hotel, a veritable gambler's paradise and the pride of Mineral Springs. To the side the Talbot, she could see, by contrast, a building that had seen far better days. It was a towering spectacular with an art deco façade that suited Mineral Springs and might once have been glamorous if not for the fact that it had long since been abandoned. A colleague at the university had informed her that the building had once been an asylum, a detail that Olivia had found strangely inspiring, leaving her all the more certain of her decision to live on this corner of Bathhouse Lane.

Once inside the safety of her home, Olivia changed into a new suit, one that she had recently had pressed. As she did so, she rebound her chest, smoothed over her shorn hair, and stared intently into the old mirror she had brought from home. In the glass, there was a handsome young man who had adjusted to the style of Mineral Springs. His eyes were bright, giddy, and empty. She laughed to herself, and turned away.

xxx

Olivia had to take a taxi to the Squalors' manor house on Lake Davidson, ten minutes outside of the heart of town. Jerome had loved the idea of living close to nature he had said. Esme, for her part, had gotten to design the house as she wanted it, but she made it clear that she would have preferred living closer to Bathhouse Lane. Olivia knew, though, that the couple could never have had such a grand house on a busy street. The Squalor mansion was an elegant building, fashioned like a Tuscan villa with wide windows that looked out onto the lake. It was three stories, and, as a visitor, Olivia had only seen the first one, but it was possessed of a large sitting room with ornate furniture that Esme had collected from antique shops across town, a dining room featuring an impressive china cabinet and canvases Esme herself had painted—to mixed success Olivia thought, and, finally, a kitchen, in which Jerome's staff worked to prepare the elaborate meals that the Squalors enjoyed whenever they weren't dining out. Sometimes, in a mad moment, Olivia imagined what it might be like to be Jerome—to have the mansion, the car, the clothes, the exquisitely beautiful wife. His life had lent him immeasurable luxuries.

When she arrived at the Squalor's mansion that evening, Olivia was not surprised to find it already full of guests. What did surprise her, however, was that, when she rang the bell, Esme herself was there to greet her. "Oliver!" she exclaimed brightly, "I did so hope you would come. Come in, come in!"

Olivia had spoken with Esme a handful of times, once for quite awhile after one of Jerome's poetry readings. All of the young men in her program looked for opportunities to speak with Esme, but often lost their nerve when such opportunities actually manifested themselves. Olivia had found herself on the opposite side of the spectrum; she had spent the year largely avoiding Jerome's wife before discovering that, if the opportunity emerged, she had little trouble speaking with the other woman, and even found her, for all her drama and noise, more than vaguely good conversation.

Esme lead Olivia into the sitting room, where the other students were already mingling with one another. Many of her classmates, Olivia noted, had brought their sweethearts along with them, women Olivia had heard described to her throughout the previous year, though she had seldom—if ever--seen them. Dating had been a touchy issue for Olivia since moving to Mineral Springs. Due to the nature of her secret, taking a lover was a complete impossibility. Still, her eyes glanced about at all of the finely dressed people, and she felt something like longing worm its way through her.

Esme interrupted her thoughts, "Well, haven't you turned out nice tonight! I always tell Jerome I think you're the best dressed of any of your peers. Though I wouldn't complain about how many of them look tonight. They almost seem like they belong in Mineral Springs, don't you think?"

Olivia nodded, "Well we all have a couple of nice outfits we bring out for occasions like this one, I think!"

Esme smirked, "Well, I'm glad to see all of you looking so dapper in any case. Tell me dear, how did your semester turn out? Was Jerome hard on you?"

The laugh in Esme's voice made Olivia's breath catch. A brief pause ensued before she replied, "Oh Jerome is a very patient teacher. His feedback helped my work explode, to become something it wasn't before." Olivia stopped, realizing she couldn't accurately describe Jerome's teaching in words that would do it justice and that Esme, predictably perhaps, wasn't truly listening to her anyway.

"I'm sure he'd love to hear you say such things, Darling. His ego is, after all, much larger than everyone seems to believe. But enough about my husband—tell me about your first year in Mineral Springs. What do you make of the culture after a year here?" There was a twinkle in her eyes, and Olivia felt that she had somehow missed the joke.

"Well, I'll confess I was a bit…overwhelmed at first. Where I'm from, people talked about this town—its parties, its people, its magic water—but I never imagined it like this. Everything is so elegant and grand."

Esme was smiling. As Olivia spoke, Jerome entered the room. "Jerome, my dear," his wife started, "Isn't Oliver adorable?"

Jerome's eyes softened as he regarded his wife, "Well I don't know if adorable is the first word that comes to mind. Perhaps 'brilliant' is less patronizing, don't you think?"

Esme scoffed, "I am certainly not patronizing him. I think he is adorable in his brilliance, in his _idealism_."

Jerome shook his head in amusement. Turning to Olivia, he said, "Don't let my wife fill your head with stories. She'll make you cynical, that one." With a wink at Esme, he turned his attention to a graduating third year student who was calling his name.

Olivia felt Esme's hand on her arm, her long, spindly fingers draping down her wrist. "Oliver, Darling, you know I'm not mocking you, don't you? I truly admire your perspective."

Olivia nodded. This close, she could smell the other woman's blonde hair—amber, lavender, and incense. "Oh I know, Esme. I'm not as naïve as I seem. My year in Mineral Springs has been the best year of my life. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

"No," came the coquettish response, "I want to know why. If what you say is true, you must have met someone. Who is she?"

A single staccato laugh burst forth from Olivia's lips, "Why, I've met no one! There has been no time. I feel married to the program. I only get so much time to study under someone like Jerome. I don't want to lose focus."

"If you haven't a lover, you have nothing to focus on." Esme pointed out drolly. "Surely Jerome's poetry teaches you that if nothing else."

"I thought you didn't read Jerome's poetry." Olivia said, recalling having read some article in which Esme had insisted that she didn't have much interest in her husband's work.

"I've read enough to know that most of it is about me."

Olivia felt blood rush through her cheeks. "Perhaps I will take a lover," she said, "but only one you approve of."

"You know I'd have it no other way! But I've talked to you enough already, I think. Go on, enjoy the party! Get some champagne and relax."

"Take care, Esme." Olivia managed, a bit regretful that the other woman's shining light was now to fall on another party guest. Esme knew how to make you feel like the most important person in the room, but Olivia was aware that, despite her charm, she lacked sincerity in many ways. Nevertheless, she marveled at how she enjoyed speaking with her, Jerome's vapid wife. Was it simply pleasurable to converse with someone who wasn't a man, since she now spent so much time exclusively in the company of men? In Olivia's mind, that did not seem an adequate answer. It felt significant to be noticed by Esme, to fall under her light every now and then. Olivia contemplated that she and Esme were likely of an age, and yet there was something so grand and untouchable about her that Olivia could never imagine feeling like an equal in any sense of the word.

xxx

As evening progressed toward night, Olivia made her way through the party, participating in mindless small talk with the other writers, half listening to them discuss their plans for future works. A few glasses of champagne in, she felt a light, almost tentative touch on her shoulder. She realized that Jerome was standing nearby.

"Hello Oliver, I hope you're enjoying the evening."

"Oh yes, of course I have been. Thank you for hosting, Jerome, it really has been a wonderful time. And a wonderful year!"

"We're lucky to have you at Tinchlin, Oliver. You've made an impression on everyone here, and your work has great potential."

Olivia was unsure of where Jerome was going, as he wasn't one to dish out compliments in such a fashion, but, overwhelmed as she was with champagne and delights, she decided to embrace his kind words. "Thank you, Jerome. That from you means a lot."

Jerome nodded awkwardly, as if suddenly shy. "I wouldn't say it if it weren't true. You were one of the top recruits last year. I do hope that the things my wife said earlier didn't put you off. Your willingness to embrace your new home makes you eminently well suited to write, not only about Mineral Springs, but about all matters. A little idealism never makes a negative contribution to poetry, I find."

"Oh Esme didn't put me off. If anything, its perspectives like hers that color mine in productive ways. If you don't mind my saying so, she's a character, your wife."

Jerome chuckled, "You could say that again. Not sure what my life would have been if not for her. But I just want you to know that your work is on the right track. We're so glad to have you at Tinchlin."

Olivia thanked Jerome again, a bit overcome. One thing she had perhaps not expected upon matriculation at Tinchlin was that she would find in Jerome such a lovely and compassionate man. His advice and interest gave her confidence that she had made the right decision in volunteering to sacrifice her identity for three years.

Not long after speaking with Jerome, the merry house party was interrupted by the sound of a blaring car horn. The sound, Olivia guessed, was coming from the Squalors' circle drive.

Jerome shook his head, as if the rudeness dismayed him. He didn't, however, seem surprised by the disturbance. The graduate students glanced at one another, curiosity and confusion written across their faces. Esme stood up from her place on one of the futons in the center of the room, as if her name had been called. She offered her husband a toothy grin, the warmth of which did not quite reach her eyes. "That's my cue! I trust you can take it from here, Jerome. Toodle-oo, Darling! Have a lovely evening."

"Esme, I thought we agreed that you would be here tonight." There was an undercurrent of panic and something almost like anger in Jerome's tone.

Esme waved her hand in front of her face dismissively, "We already discussed this; the big race is this evening and I will not be missing it. I must go now or I will be late."

Olivia realized that Esme was referring to the horse-racing track, one of the most popular gambling venues in town. They were holding a sunset race that evening, and much of Mineral Springs had been twitching in anticipation.

"There will be other races." Jerome protested desperately, "Please, Esme, my sweet, stay here tonight. Stay with me."

Olivia was surprised to see that Jerome didn't seem to care if his students knew the depth of his love for his wife. Perhaps he reasoned that they had read his poetry religiously and knew of it already. Esme was his butterfly, always dancing just beyond his grasp, but close enough for him to worship.

Esme was unmoved. "I'll be back later, dear. I really must be off now." Before Jerome could protest again, off she was. It occurred to Olivia as she watched Esme go that she had dressed for the races, rather than a house party. There was a particular way that women in Mineral Springs dressed when they were going to the racetrack, a way that advertised their appearance, rendered it apparent that they wanted to be seen. She was wearing a long red dress with a frilly design at the top that emphasized her bust, a veil hat that dramatically shadowed her face, lipstick to match the dress. Her gloves, in the tradition of the racetrack at Mineral Springs, were white. She had, Olivia knew suddenly, been planning this escape all evening.

There was a blanket of silence as her stilettos clacked across the marble floor in the foyer of the Squalor mansion and onto the brick patio just outside. Once she had gone, Jerome called out, "Carry on," but there was no cheer in his voice. The party fizzled out shortly afterward, and Olivia found herself catching a taxi back to Bathhouse Lane earlier than she had anticipated.

xxx

Olivia asked the cab driver to drop her off at her building, but, upon arrival, she found she could not bring herself to go inside, not yet. Bathhouse Lane, as ever, was alive with light and spectacle, and it seemed criminal to retreat so early into the recesses of her cavernous apartment. So, she walked. Not to Gertrude's, as she often did after a long day of writing, but to the Talbot Hotel. As she entered, the clean, floral scent of the lobby washed over her, and she let go of the breath she had not realized she had been holding in. Every time she walked into the hotel, she found herself recalling her first venture through its doors, when she had been overwhelmed by the grand staircase, the high ceilings with their modish chandeliers, the band which played its sensuous tunes late into the evenings, and the tropical palm trees painted behind the bar that, apparently, the owner's wife had insisted fit perfectly within the otherwise elegant space. In Mineral Springs, Olivia knew, it was fashionable, on some level, to be a sucker for your woman.

Olivia found a sofa in the back of the lobby in an attempt to make herself as inconspicuous as possible. She was reminded of her college days, in which she would occasionally dress in men's clothes and roam the streets as a man, embracing the anonymity that such an action granted her. The best part of being Oliver was that no one paid attention to him in the way that they had Olivia. No men jeered at her, no unwanted words were directed her way. She would, she knew, miss that aspect of her life once the degree ended and she returned to her hometown. She delighted in the sensation of being able to watch people and fade into obscurity. The lobby that evening was full of wealthy gamblers and their mistresses. As she gazed at one young man who was listening to his beautiful love while she spoke animatedly, a pang of emptiness filled her heart and she found herself wishing that she could truly become Oliver.

The sight of the couple also brought her back to the scene she had witnessed at Jerome's party. Everyone in Mineral Springs knew that Esme was Olaf McReggens' mistress. Olaf was, certainly, among the most feared figures in town, as he was the leader of a well known gang in addition to being the owner of Gertrude's, the popular clubhouse and brothel where Olivia often went to relax. In so many ways, Olaf McReggens owned Mineral Springs—literally. It only made sense that the city's jewel was his lover. During her year in the city, Olivia had heard stories of Jerome and Esme's marriage—that she often had affairs, that he was left to pick up the pieces, that she would never truly leave him nor he her, despite her tendency to explore other avenues. Olivia had also heard, though, that Esme's affair with Olaf was different, that she madly loved the gangster and the position that being with him gave her. Perhaps that accounted for the desperation Jerome appeared to feel when he had begged her to stay.

The sultry whine of the band's saxophone pulled Olivia deeper into a reverie. What would it be like to dance with a woman like Esme to music as divine as this? How would it feel to love such a woman so deeply and to know that you could never truly have her? Would dancing be enough?

In an attempt to shift her thoughts to other matters, Olivia gazed at the performers, and was at once taken aback by what she saw. Beside the saxophonist was a woman playing the piano. Though it was not unheard of to see a woman instrumentalist, it was uncommon enough to make the pianist's appearance a shocking one. Olivia closed her eyes and listened, pleased to hear that the woman was, indeed, quite talented. Just as she had found herself wishing that she could morph into Oliver moments earlier, she now felt envious of this pianist, able, as a woman, to make her contribution to the world in plain sight.

As the first song ended, the guests in the lobby applauded the band. The woman stood to recognize the applause, and Olivia saw that she was older-- perhaps mid-fifties--with an appealing smile, and short, stylish auburn hair. Olivia wondered how long she had been a pianist, who she was, and whether her husband minded that she worked outside of the home. Nosily, she glanced at woman's finger, searching for a wedding ring, and saw that she appeared to have none. Olivia was all the more intrigued. What sort of woman could make her way in the world without a husband? Who was she?

"Brava, Georgina! Brava!" a man from the back shouted, enthusiastically clapping his hands. The pianist turned her beguiling eyes toward him, and Olivia was surprised to recognize Fernald, one of the men from Olaf McReggens' gang. What did this pianist, this Georgina, have to do with the mob?

So intrigued was Olivia that she didn't notice a young woman approaching from behind, "Excuse me, Oliver," flirtatious eyes looked out from underneath a dark green hat. Olivia jumped.

"Oh! I'm sorry. Who are you?" She felt certain she had never seen the woman before, and it was jarring to hear her name in a place in which she had moments previously felt so encased in anonymity.

"A friend," the rich voice replied, "The boss would like a word."

"Who is your boss?" she demanded, but the woman only laughed, strawberry curls bouncing.

"Are you coming or not? Esme says you're a sport."

 _Esme._ The sound of her name made the decision for her. "Show me the way." Olivia said.

"That's more like it." The strange woman answered and, extending a hand for Olivia to take, she lead her away from the Talbot and into the fierce unknown of the awaiting night.


	2. The Wretched Racetrack

Olaf McReggens was in his element. He was sitting in his box at the Oakwood racetrack, watching with delight as his guests mingled happily in front of the great glass window, eagerly anticipating the event. Olaf prided himself on being a good host. Of course, the guest he was most anticipating had yet to arrive, but that was no matter. She would come soon enough, he felt certain of it. 

The evening was hot. Despite the setting sun, Olaf felt beads of sweat decorating his forehead, an unsanitary halo. He might have been unaware of his sweaty body if not for the fact that his mind strayed to what Esme would say if she saw how disheveled he was on a night like this. Though she liked him sweaty and warm when they were alone, in public, she wanted Olaf to look as beautiful as she did. He grinned at the thought. There was no world in which that was possible. He glanced down to the front of the box to watch her, his beautiful, mad girlfriend. Somehow, that beauty and madness had bred to create a creature so unlike any woman Olaf had ever been with that he occasionally wondered if he was going soft, but, in his calmer moments, he knew better. He watched as the men in the room interacted with her. They wanted her, wanted to know what it was like to possess her, to be inside her, and the knowledge that they never would inspired a searing warmth to burn throughout his body. 

Behind him, he heard a man clear his throat. Without looking, he was certain that it was Fernald, having completed his errand. His late guest had finally arrived. "Hello Georgina," he said, without turning around to look her in the eyes. 

"Olaf," came the full voice, raspier than he remembered, but nevertheless lovely, "To what do I owe this pleasure? I can't recall the last time you sent me an invite to one of your parties. Why, you even sent me an escort this time!"

Olaf breathed deeply, unwilling to be drawn back into Georgina's games. "I think I should consider inviting you to more parties." He said bluntly, at last turning to meet the woman's gaze. Her eyes were pastel blue, her auburn hair was pulled back away from her face, granting her a somewhat elegant appearance, and she wore a deep green pantsuit which, Olaf admitted to himself begrudgingly, absolutely suited her. "I would like to see more of you."

"I thought you'd already seen enough of me to last you a lifetime." Georgina quipped. Olaf's blood bubbled as he dismissed the images of days long past. 

"Georgina, you know I could never see enough of you. You're the only brilliant woman I've ever known."

Georgina snickered unpleasantly. "How can you say that when you're fucking Esme Squalor?"

Pleased to see that Georgina had lost none of her lewdness, he found himself suppressing a smile as he replied, "She certainly does a brilliant job of fucking my cock, it's true. But you fuck my mind."

"I know. So let me maintain my reputation then. What is all this about? Why have you summoned me to your hedonistic party this evening?"

"It is hardly hedonistic, Georgina," he said. She raised her eyebrows in dismay, "No worse than the bars you play in these days—or the company you keep."

"Touche. Allow me then, to guess at your intentions since you insist on stalling. You wish to join hands, make your enemy your friend, to subdue me in the simplest way imaginable? Is that it?" 

"You make it sound like a bad thing. You and I want the same things. I admire the work you're doing with your club these days. We have a lot to offer each other." 

Georgina's snicker developed into a full belly laugh, and Olaf twitched with displeasure, a detail she noticed and ignored, "I'm sure we do. Well, we did once at any rate. Now, though, I've found I'm better solo. Happier. I've got my club and my people and you've got yours. If you ask me, the best thing we can do is stay out of each other's way. Can you handle that?" There was a note of menace in the woman's tone and Olaf knew that there would be consequences if he troubled Georgina again. He didn't care enough to give it much thought, however. 

"If you already knew what I was going to ask, why did you let Fernald bring you here tonight?"

Georgina shrugged, "I was bored. Wanted to see what one of your parties feels like these days."

"And?" Olaf inquired before he could stop himself. 

"Splendid. As ever. You know that."

"If you joined me, you could come to all of the parties, Georgina. And I would find them all the warmer."

"I'm flattered, Olaf, but that time is over. I see no reason we can't simply get on with things and stay out of each other's way. So I've had a bit of success, you know a woman can only have so much success in Mineral Springs. Don't be petty; I promise I won't dethrone you."

Olaf took a ragged breath in a vaguely unsuccessful attempt to calm himself. "With my help, you would have more success than you could imagine. Besides, how should I be certain that your success will be limited? You are in many ways an exception to your sex."

Georgina smiled nastily. "I'll take that as a compliment, Olaf. I believe I'll take my leave as well, seeing as this conversation isn't really going anywhere. You're paranoid because I own one club and have the cash to pay off the cops. Get over it. It's hardly reminiscent of the empire you've built for yourself here." She hesitated, her gaze briefly flittering over to the edge of the box, where Esme was deep in conversation with two of Olaf's male associates. "Enjoy yourself, Olaf" she said drolly, "You're the king of Mineral Springs." 

"I am," Olaf called after her as she made her way down the rather long hall that lead to the exit to his private box, "And I will be for years to come. You'd do best to remember that."

"I never forget anything," Georgina drawled, without turning around to face the man. As she left the box, Olaf groaned. He should have guessed, of course, that Georgina would be unwilling to hand over her club in exchange for money. She was, after all, now making plenty of it herself. Her establishment, Starlite Club, was gaining much popularity. There were rumors that the performers were better than those at Gertrude's, the girls prettier and better between the sheets. He doubted that these things were true. Gertrude's was a Mineral Springs staple, part of its fiber. Still, he had been the owner of the most successful club in Mineral Springs long enough to know that it was unwise to underestimate the power of novelty, and as a new and well run club, Georgina's Starlite had that in spades. Aside from that, Georgina herself was not to be doubted. Of all the women he had known, she was the only one possessed of a mind that he admired. In attributes, skills, and desires, Georgina was herself very nearly a man. 

"How did it go?" Esme's voice brought him back to reality. 

"As well as could be expected, pet." 

"In other words, not well at all. Well, that's the Georgie I know. Can't say I'm surprised. Time for plan B then?" Esme asked. 

Olaf felt suddenly weary. "Yes. I suppose we knew it would come to this. Still, it seems a shame. I was hopeful she would comply. I could use a mind like Georgina's working for me"

Esme shook her head and sat beside Olaf, draping her arms around his shoulders and sliding, uninvited into his lap. He stirred. "Now Darling, what on earth could you need her for when you have me?"

"Oh I don't mean that I need her in that way. I could never desire her that way again. It's just that she has a mind for business, Esme love. She doesn't have the beautiful mind of a woman." 

"An empty mind, you mean?" Esme replied tartly as she stiffened in his arms. 

"What are you talking about?" Olaf asked, at once feeling his previous exhaustion return. 

"The mind of a woman. You think a woman's mind is empty. That my mind is. If Georgina is full of schemes, that makes her an equal in your mind?" Esme was indignant, irritable in that dramatic way that always succeeded in pissing Olaf off. 

"Oh Esme, you know better than anyone that that is not the only reason I say Georgina has a man's mind."

Esme flinched, disentangling herself from Olaf's arms as quickly as she had fallen into them. "That isn't funny and you know it. I didn't know myself then."

Olaf carried on as though he hadn't heard her. "Why would you want to have Georgina's mind anyway? You're the wealthiest, sexiest woman in Mineral Springs. Isn't that enough for you? What more could you want?"

"I'll never stop wanting, Olaf." Esme purred. "I wouldn't be me if I did. Do you think Jerome Squalor could write what he does about a stagnant, empty muse?"

Olaf grasped her too tightly by her wrist. "Don't say his name here," he hissed. 

"Or what? You'll blacken my eye in front of all of your party guests. Go on, then, show them that the rumors are true. Show them what a brute Olaf McReggens is." Her eyes were manic, her smile antagonizing. Olaf desperately fought the urge to take her up on her suggestion. 

"Boss!" a voice called from the front of the box, "Boss, the race is starting!" 

"I'm coming down!" He turned to Esme and released her from his grasp. As he looked down at the deep red lines on the delicate flesh of her wrist before him, a sudden wave of tenderness stole over him. "Won't you come down to the glass with me, love? Let's stop this foolishness." 

"Why should I?" Esme retorted, "How do I know you won't change your mind and decide to hit me after all?"

"My dear, I may not be the wisest man in the world, but I am wise enough to know that I'm lucky as hell."

"I'll say! You've got-"

"You. I've got you. Of all the things I've got, you're the finest. Nothing is ever gonna mean more to me than you. Now won't you come down and watch this race we rigged? I promise I'll treat you when it's over. "

In spite of herself, Esme flushed, pink-painted flesh covering her cheeks and flowing downward to the tops of her breasts. Olaf found her utterly irresistible. As he reached for her, she said "What about the boy?"

"What boy?" Olaf asked, his mind elsewhere. 

"Oliver," Esme said slowly, as if Olaf were hard of hearing. 

"Oh! Well yeah, he should be here shortly. I sent Jacquelyn after him. Figured he'd like that. Most guys do. You'll get a chance to work your magic on him and then I'll take you wherever you want to go."

Esme smiled, a blinding true smile. "I'll hold you to it."

Olaf laughed, "Don't you always?" With that, he took Esme's hand and led her to watch the race beneath their feet.

xxx

As Olivia followed the strawberry blonde stranger through the lively streets of Mineral Springs, onto a precarious trolley, and through the gates leading up to Oakwood racetrack, she felt nervous. Though she had lived in Mineral Springs for over a year now, Olivia had never been inside of Oakwood and curiosity overwhelmed her as she pushed open its glass doors and stepped into the grand hall beyond. The woman leading her had refused to tell Olivia why Esme wished to see her, and eventually, Olivia gave up asking, reasoning that there was nowhere else she'd rather be on this balmy night in June. Though the lobby of Oakwood racetrack was a glitzy place, covered in marble and decorated with what looked to be actual gold, Olivia didn't have much time to admire the place as the blonde seemed on a mission, leading her down a hallway that branched off of the main lobby and toward the area of the building that housed the private boxes. When at last she reached Olaf McReggens' box, the whole situation still did not feel quite real to her. Olivia heard her charming guide make a comment but, to her, it was unintelligible, so lost was she in the sight before her. 

Olaf's box was enormous. The evening race had apparently just ended and people were mingling, discussing the results and whatever else struck them. In the corner of the room, she caught sight of Esme and Olaf, surrounded by various men Olivia didn't recognize. As she made her way over to Esme, her heart jumped into her throat and she attempted to control her shaking hands. Meeting the other woman in this context felt different from the more professional encounters she had had with her in the past. Fortunately, however, she didn't have to make the first move. Esme's green eyes flashed brightly as they caught sight of Olivia "Oliver! Come over, dearest! You've just missed the race."

"Sorry to have missed it. I wasn't under the impression I was invited to the race." Olivia said, sounding more confident than she felt. 

"Ah I suspect half of the guests in this box weren't invited either. Wouldn't you say, Olaf?"

Olaf snorted, "I don't know about that and, to be frank, I don't care."

Esme sniffed. "Well you wouldn't, would you? Anyway, Oliver, the reason I've summoned you here tonight is that I believe I may require your help in a rather personal matter."

Olivia was unable to disguise her shock. "My help? What could you possibly need me for? How did you know where I was hanging out tonight anyway?"

"I had Jacquelyn follow you because I wanted someone I could trust. You don't mind, do you? I know we haven't gotten to talk as much as either of us might wish, but I always sensed something I liked in you, Oliver. You're the man I need at the moment. I'm never wrong about this kind of thing." 

Esme extended her long, gloved fingers out toward Olivia and, without fully realizing it, Olivia took Esme's hand in hers. "What makes you think I could help you with anything, Esme? You always seem as though you have most things entirely under your control." 

"I wish that were so." To Olivia's surprise, Esme twitched, as a nervous child might before a school presentation. She was all the more intrigued: what could possibly be making Esme Squalor so nervous? And why, of all people, had she summoned Olivia to discuss it with? Feeling a sudden desire to reassure the other woman, she squeezed Esme's palm encouragingly. Olaf chuckled, as though someone had told a bad joke, and Olivia at once recalled that he was there. 

"Don't get too cozy with her, kid," he said gruffly, "You're lucky to be in my box after all."

Esme's sharp jaw turned up haughtily, and for a moment, she was intimidating. "Olaf, that is no way to speak to a guest that I invited here. I've told you; Oliver is the only one who can do this job."

Olaf shrugged. "Don't see why you've got such faith in this untested man. Why, he wants to be the next generation's version of your husband! We both know how useful he has been to you."

"Jerome is the love of my life." Esme said simply, "And Oliver comes from the same stock."

"Give me a break," Olaf snarled, turning away from Esme and toward the open bar at the other side of the box. The few men who had been standing beside him quickly followed. Olivia used his departure as an opportunity to reassert herself. 

"Will you please tell me what is going on?" she demanded. 

Without letting go of Olivia's hand, Esme lowered her voice, "Well, Darling, years ago, I led a very different life to the one I lead now. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I suppose it's common knowledge that I worked at Georgina Orwell's establishment before I met Jerome."

"Common knowledge to everyone but me apparently," Olivia replied, "I didn't even know who Georgina Orwell was until tonight. I saw her playing at the Talbot. She was magnificent! I've never seen a woman play like that." As she spoke, Olivia tried to recall the glorious music she had heard an hour or so earlier. "Were you a musician? You have a wonderful voice." 

Something in Esme's expression shifted. "I'm afraid I wasn't a musician. You see, in addition to being a pianist, Georgina runs a business rather like Gertrude's—in every respect."

Olivia was, at last, starting to put the pieces together. Olaf's club Gertrude's doubled as a brothel. It was a well-known fact, but he paid the police to turn a blind eye to his dealings, an agreement that they were all too happy to oblige. Olivia had never heard of a woman running such a business, however, and, in spite of her values, she felt rather tingly at the thought of it. "You mean she runs a brothel?"

Esme nodded. "Yes, that's exactly what I mean."

Olivia's head was swimming. The thought of that courageous, pantsuit-wearing pianist making her way as a business woman amidst the grime and grit of Mineral Springs was striking enough, but somehow, the thought that Jerome Squalor, a wealthy gentleman, had fallen in love with a prostitute, married her despite her status, and looked to her as the object of his existence was the one that took Olivia's breath away. 

Esme interrupted her thoughts. "Oliver, I understand that hearing such a thing might be shocking, but this silence is unbearable. Do tell me what you're thinking."

"How can you do it, Esme?" Olivia blurted before she could stop herself, "How can you come here and be with Olaf when Jerome loves you as he does?"

Esme let out a throaty laugh. "Jerome wouldn't have me another way. I can see why that might be difficult to understand, but I do love him and he loves me too much to see me change."

Olivia remembered Jerome's desperation at the party that afternoon, but held her tongue, recognizing with frustration that she would receive no true answer from Esme. A veil of coldness fell over her before she spoke again, "I mean no disrespect, Esme, but Olaf runs the most popular brothel in town, and, if you yourself used to work at Georgina's, I can't begin to imagine why her establishment would be any cause for her concern."

"I'm afraid it is not that simple." Esme said. "When I worked for Georgina, she treated her girls dreadfully, all the while excusing her behavior because she wasn't a man. She runs the Starlite club on the on the north side of Bathhouse Lane, do you know it?" 

"I've seen it." Olivia admitted, "Didn't know it was run by a woman. It is popular, but nothing like Gertrude's of course. It does seem like a happy place though! I have a friend who gets drinks there regularly." 

"That's just the issue, Oliver. It only looks like a happy place. Believe me when I say it is not: Georgina abuses her women, verbally, physically, and sexually. She claims her sex justifies her tyranny, that no woman can terrorize another woman in the way that a man can terrorize her. That is only an excuse. I don't know how I strike you, my dear. I must seem vapid in certain respects, but my life has not been altogether charmed, and I still think often of my life before Jerome came into it. There are so many women still working for Georgina there. Say what you will about Olaf, but you'll never catch him abusing the women who work for him. He's fair—I would know that better than anyone—I don't like to think of anyone enduring the conditions I did when I worked for her." Esme's eyes welled with tears, and, as though ashamed, she turned her gaze away from Olivia's. "I have a position of power in Mineral Springs now, through various strokes of luck. I want to do something good, be known for something other than being beautiful. If I could set those women free, I could do that."

"Set them free?" Olivia asked incredulously, "Do you mean close down Starlite?"

"It needs to go, Oliver. I can't stand by knowing how she treats the women who work for her. She is not a woman--she has no compassion! She's an abomination."

Olivia struggled to reconcile the impossibly liberated woman she had seen at the Talbot that night with the monster Esme was describing. She had to acknowledge though that Esme seemed sincere enough in her tale. After all, it couldn't have been easy to bring up her murky past—Olivia watched Esme's mounting distress as haunting visions only she could see twisted before her eyes. In a soft voice, Olivia said, "Tell me how I can help, Esme." 

"Jerome tells me that you're a pianist, that you write about it sometimes in your poetry. Is that true?" Esme's tone was suddenly characterized by an urgency Olivia had not previously observed in her. 

Olivia was baffled. "Yes, but I haven't really had much of a chance to play in a very long time. I'm surprised Jerome mentioned it!"

"Oh he mentions you very often, my sweet." Esme smiled broadly at Olivia, snaking her fingers all the more tightly around the other woman's hand. "He is convinced of your brilliance. But we can talk about his admiration for your writing another time. If you're a pianist of any kind, even an amateur, you can take lessons with Georgina. She teaches them during the day. What I'd like you to do is to sign up for a lesson with her, thereby gaining access to her home. She lives in a house next to Starlite so it shouldn't be too difficult to find. When I got married and stopped working there, she said she'd never truly lose me because she had kept a…record of all that had occurred between us." As Esme spoke, her lips contorted, as though someone had forced her to eat a raw lemon. "I guess she meant a journal. Georgina has unnatural lusts, Oliver. She wanted me as a man would. She mistreated me on account of her desire."

Olivia thought of her own, silent desire for Esme, and shivered before reminding herself sternly that Esme saw Oliver her ally before her, rather than Olivia, an "unnatural" creature. There was, therefore, no reason to worry. "She touched you without your consent?" Olivia asked finally. 

Esme nodded. "She had a whip with my initials on it that she always used to punish me when it suited her. I suspect she still has it somewhere. If you could recover the whip or any of the records she might have kept, perhaps we could go to the police, tell them she runs a brothel."

"But wouldn't the police just excuse her business the same way they excuse Olaf's? The Mineral Springs police aren't known for their morality." Olivia remarked. 

"Oh they'll care if they know she desires other women sexually. If we could prove that, they would consider her too perverse, even for Mineral Springs." Esme's eyes were gleaming with something like madness. Olivia felt she should turn away, and yet she could not. She stood transfixed, as if in a trance. 

Finally, Olivia found her voice, "Does Jerome know about any of this? The way she used to treat you, I mean?"

Esme's patrician nose wrinkled. "He does, but he thinks I should let it go. Jerome has never been one for confrontation anyway. He thinks that even talking about it is too traumatic. Perhaps he's right, but that is all the more reason that something must be done. Talking about Georgina shames me, Oliver. I wouldn't ask you for help unless I was certain you were the right person for the job. And you are. Will you help me?"

Olivia looked into Esme's face, taking in the imploring, desperate expression. Without another thought, she knew there was only one answer. "Of course, Esme, I'll do it. But I can't promise you I'll find anything."

Esme squealed and placed a kiss on Olivia's cheek. "I knew I could count on you, Darling. Just do your best. I'll certainly understand if you can't find anything. Georgina is, after all, a very cunning woman. But if you do find anything that would prove her sexual involvement with her women, I'd be forever in your debt."

"Forever?" Olivia asked, playful for the first time that night. "That's a terribly long time."

"Maybe not," Esme smirked, and Olivia didn't get the chance to ask her what she meant. 

"Esme!" Olaf bellowed from the other side of the box, "I thought we had agreed on dinner. Don't you want to go out?" The tone was gruff, but the words were kind. Esme responded warmly. 

"I'm coming, Darling! I've just got to fetch my shawl and show Oliver out."

"Well be quick about it. The night isn't getting any younger."

Esme rolled her eyes in false annoyance, before turning back to Olivia. "You'll let me know how it all goes, won't you?"

"Yes, I promise," she managed as she felt Esme's kiss still wet on her cheek. And so it was that Olivia Caliban found herself signing up for piano lessons with Georgina Orwell, an activity that, just a few weeks prior, she could never have imagined figuring into her summer plans. On the following Monday morning, she was knocking on the eccentric blue door of a small brick house with a well-maintained garden, wondering—not for the first time—what she had gotten herself into.


	3. The Bleak Bathhouse

At the sound of Olivia's knock, the eccentric blue door swung open, as if Georgina Orwell had been expecting company all morning. Olivia noted that Georgina was wearing a pantsuit, just as she had been when she had seen the older woman playing the piano in the lobby of the Talbot. She tried to imagine what this strange little woman might look like in a dress, and found that she could not. For some reason even Olivia herself could not decipher, her inability to picture Georgina in feminine garb brought her a small amount of pleasure. 

"How can I help you?" Georgina asked. Her voice was harsh—years of smoking socially in clubs had taken their toll-but it had a honey warmth to it as well. She smiled at Olivia affectionately, as though the younger woman were some lost friend she could not place, and Olivia found, for the moment at least, that it was easy to forget about the heinous crimes of which Esme had accused Georgina. 

"I'm here for piano lessons." Olivia said, cursing the shrill notes that had unexpectedly crept into her voice. 

Georgina's sleepy smile stretched lazily into a broad grin. "Ah yes, you're the one who called ahead. Oliver isn't it? Very well. Come in, let's get you comfortable."

As Olivia entered the house, she found that it was charming in its chaos. Georgina, it seemed, was running out of wall space on which to display her paintings (her greatest hobby when she was not playing the piano, as it turned out). And what intriguing paintings! Across the walls were various landscapes and nude women, placed too closely together. In some cases, it was difficult to tell which of the two was which, as sloping hills became voluptuous curves and swelling breasts gave way to ripe apples. Certainly, such artwork betrayed Georgina's perversity, but Olivia could find no fault in any of the art. In fact, it so pleased her that her breath caught within the depth of her throat, and she found herself struggling to look anywhere except at the walls of Georgina's eclectic abode. 

Georgina broke into her thoughts. "Cozy, isn't it?" 

"Oh yes," Olivia replied without thinking. "Its beautiful."

"That's not the typical response I get to my paintings, but thank you, my dear."

Olivia's cheeks throbbed. "I wasn't referring solely to your paintings, but to the house itself—though your art is lovely of course."

Georgina laughed. "Of course. Would you like some tea before we get started? I always do like to have the opportunity to know my clients a bit better."

Olivia hesitated, but swiftly reminded herself not to panic. After all, there was no reason to suspect that Georgina knew anything about the conversation she had had with Esme in Olaf's box. "Thank you. I'd like that very much."

As Georgina walked into her kitchen to put the kettle on, Olivia sat down somewhat awkwardly on a well-loved old sofa in the sitting room and tried to focus on breathing. After a moment, she heard Georgina call out, "So why have you come to take lessons? It does seem odd, considering how busy Jerome Squalor's students are rumored to be."

"Its summer." Olivia responded without missing a beat. "And I played casually before I moved here."

Georgina hummed as she brought a large grey teapot and two small cups on a lavender tray into the sitting room. She carefully placed the tray on a mahogany coffee table. "There are countless male instructors who could teach you. Why did you choose me?"

Olivia was relieved to have a question she could answer honestly. "I saw you playing at the Talbot the other night. You were wonderful. It made me remember how much I love to play. So I looked you up and I came."

Georgina nodded, and Olivia sensed approval in her expression. "Are you a regular visitor at the Talbot?"

"I wouldn't say regular, but I stop in the lobby sometimes for a pint when I need room to think."

"Room to think?" Georgina gasped and brought her fingers to her cheeks in glee. "My, but you are a marvel. What on earth does a handsome young creature like you think about?"

Stung, Olivia replied, "Poetry."

"And what is your poetry about, Oliver?" Georgina asked. Her tone was slightly cold, but her eyes were curious. 

"I don't know." Olivia responded, unsettled by the honesty of her own response. "Before I moved to this town, I guess I wrote about my mother, my family. When I first moved here, I wrote about Mineral Springs and its beauty. Now, I don't know."

"Mineral Springs doesn't inspire you anymore?" At last, Georgina seemed slightly interested. Olivia felt flattered. 

"Mineral Springs confuses me. It seemed beautiful when I read about it in Jerome's poetry. He makes it sound as though it sparkles, that the most amazing people inhabit it, that there is nowhere else in which people feel truly alive. But he doesn't write about its ugliness, its horrors." Olivia stopped. She was far too ahead of herself. 

Georgina's lip twitched. "And you do know about its horrors?" she asked doubtfully. 

Olivia shook her head. "I believe I am learning. Jerome sees the town's ugliness too, but he wants to see it another way. In my work, I want to show Mineral Springs for what it truly is, not what I would like it to be."

"Perhaps Jerome sees Mineral Springs the same way he sees Esme." Georgina took a long drag of her cigarette and stared into Olivia's eyes. 

Feeling naked, Olivia said, "I don't know what you mean."

"No, I'm sure you don't." Georgina replied airily, "So what got you into the piano, then? Your mother? That is often the way."

"No, I got into it myself. Music is the soul's poetry. I wanted to create it the same way I craft words, to feel that I could bring emotion to life with my fingers—the way that you did in the Talbot lobby the other night." 

To Olivia's surprise, Georgina grabbed her roughly by the hand. Olivia had to fight the urge to pull her arm sharply away from the other woman, but she reminded herself to be polite. She had the sense that Georgina was unusual after all, and it wouldn't do to offend her and end up permanently dismissed from her house. "Never say that," Georgina hissed, "Never say that music is pure feeling, that it is the soul's poetry. Say none of those maudlin lies. Music is a calculated performance, intended to impress, like any of life's performances. You'd do well to remember that if you want to last in Mineral Springs—or anywhere else." 

Olivia found that she was uncertain what to say. An old pipe gurgled in the back of the room. Georgina broke the silence. "Now then, you'll be wanting to start I expect."

And start they did. Georgina was a strict instructor, constantly admonishing Olivia for playing "without depth." Though the lesson was only an hour, it felt much longer as Olivia's skills had become quite rusty. By the time she left Georgina's house, she was exhausted and more perplexed than ever. She knew that she would need to earn Georgina's trust in order to familiarize herself with the older woman's house and its contents, but she was not confident that she would be able to find either of the incriminating items Esme had told her about a few days prior.

The whole situation was quite the perplexing one. Olivia knew that Esme Squalor was by nature a theatrical creature, and yet she had sensed in her at the racetrack a rawness, a sincerity that she had never seen in her before. Her willingness to open up about her sordid past could only mean that she was desperate to see Georgina pay for what she had done. Georgina, though, seemed to be a charming woman with a penchant for finely played piano, a woman who believed that women could take men's roles within society and carry them out to great effect. Olivia had never encountered a woman like Georgina before and she was, she had to confess, fascinated by the idea that a woman could rise to power in Mineral Springs in the same way that Olaf McReggens and other men had. So while she believed Esme's struggles were true, she could not help but regret the fact that an astounding woman like Georgina was as wicked as Esme had painted her. It was, if nothing else, a great disappointment. 

xxx

Upon leaving her lesson, Olivia found herself strolling through the already scorching sidewalks that lined Bathhouse Lane. She watched as tourists rushed in and out of the town's boutiques like ants, as if afraid that the items they desired would disappear if they did not rush toward their various destinations. Olivia herself was in no rush, as she had nowhere to be for over an hour. She strolled leisurely past the gambling halls, the clubhouses and shops, the abandoned asylum, and the Talbot with its proud towers until, at last, she reached Tinchlin University's campus. Olivia was to meet Jerome there to discuss her latest manuscript and, though she was confident that it was in many ways her boldest work yet, she felt unusually nervous. Something about the poems she had written in the last few weeks made her exposed, as though she were offering Jerome sketches of her naked body rather than her craft. For the moment, she tried to encourage herself not to think about Jerome and what he might say about her work. 

The journey to Tinchlin's campus was not a long one. It was located just beyond Bathhouse Lane, but felt as far from that glittering street as could be possibly imagined. Tinchlin was densely forested, feeling more like a vaguely organized wilderness than an urban university. Under the shelter of the trees, Olivia took a breath and relaxed completely for the first time since she had left Georgina. In the university setting, things made sense, and Olivia found she was relieved to embrace its shelter. When at last she reached the humanities building, she felt eager—rather than nervous—to meet Jerome within. 

Despite the prestige of the English department at Tinchlin, the university was unwilling to update the humanities buildings, much to Jerome's chagrin, who was always complaining that there was too much money pushed into the sciences and not enough put toward the "subjects that concern the heart." Though Olivia was, on the whole, inclined to agree with his assessment, she secretly loved the humanities building. It was very old with long windows and small, dusty, but cozy classrooms that felt more like a comforting home than a rigid school building. It was near one of those windows in a particularly small classroom that Olivia found Jerome writing at his desk. When he saw his student, he gestured excitedly, "Oliver! Good to see you. Come and take a seat by me."

"Thank you." Olivia said, hopeful that she didn't seem concerned. As she took her seat, Jerome studied her briefly. Self conscious—as she always was in her disguise—Olivia asked, "Is something the matter?"

Jerome shook his head, embarrassed. "No, of course not. Its just that…well, I've read your most recent set of poems and it seems to me that you're developing a new voice."

"A new voice?" Though Olivia asked the question, she already knew, at least at some level, what her professor meant. 

"When you first started here last year, there was this remarkable brightness that pervaded so much of your work. It was as though you could take any puzzling or frustrating situation and find its silver lining. Poets, Oliver, can be given to self- indulgence, to self-pitying nonsense. Your writing struck me for precisely the opposite reason—your poems all suggest that life is beautiful because of its flaws, not despite them. It is truly a rare quality in a poet of your age." Jerome paused to take a breath. 

"I'm sensing a but." Olivia smiled, attempting to lessen the tension that she felt mounting. In truth, a worm of dread had made its way into her stomach. She was deeply affected by the things Jerome had said about her work, and she hated the thought that this new manuscript had altered or changed his good opinion. 

Jerome returned Olivia's smile. "I wouldn't say a 'but' exactly, but it does seem to me that this new collection is…perhaps a bit more cynical than your previous work? Would it be fair to say that?"

Cynical. The word danced around Olivia's brain. Cynical. Was she cynical now? She had finally managed to begin the program of her dreams in this extraordinary city. How could she be cynical? And yet, as soon as Jerome described the work that way, Olivia knew it was so. "Yes, I think it might be," she answered finally. 

"Well, it is far from my place to ask, but I find myself curious: are things going poorly for you here in Mineral Springs? Is there anything you'd like to get off your chest? I know it might seem strange to talk about this sort of thing with me, but I'd be happy to lend an ear if you think it might help." Jerome looked earnest and kind. 

Olivia found that she wished she could confide in him, but suddenly she no longer knew where to begin. In the end, the answer she gave was not the one she had anticipated giving. "I don't like the people in Mineral Springs, I don't think. They aren’t what I expected."

Jerome's expression shifted. "Oh? I was under the impression that you were enjoying life here."

"I am," Olivia said, "Well, I have been until recently. I don't always know who I can trust here. It seems like everything is a performance, that no one says what they mean." Her voice trailed off. Her own thoughts sounded incoherent to her ears, perhaps a bit stupid, when voiced aloud. She looked up, sheepishly attempting to meet Jerome's gaze. She was relieved to see that her mentor was looking at her with the same warm expression he had been wearing moments earlier. 

"Oh Oliver," Jerome said softly, "I've been selfish. I always admired the way that your work was able to focus on the things that make this city beautiful, but I should have known that you would see it for what it was before long. Everyone does." As he spoke, he reached into his desk drawer and pulled a bright pink card from within it. "Esme gave me this last Valentine's Day" he said, holding it out for Olivia to see, "Take a look."

Olivia shook her head, "I really shouldn't." 

Jerome grinned as if to reassure her. "No, I insist."

With trepidation, Olivia took the brightly colored card from Jerome. Inside, Esme's scrawling handwriting read "To the only man I could have married in Mineral Springs."

Olivia looked up at Jerome. "The only man?" she asked before she could stop herself. 

"Don't you see? Even Esme knows that Mineral Springs is a world of farce. It’s a seductive world to be sure, but there is nothing stable within it. Esme married me because, when it came down to it, she wanted the only permanent relationship in her life to be a real relationship. She may have other close relationships, even other lovers, but they're all fleeting, unstable. When she chose a husband, she chose someone consistent." 

Olivia was puzzled. "She is a lucky woman no doubt," she said, "but how do you stand it? Being her "real" person in a sea of emptiness?" Olivia knew she was probably overstepping boundaries, but she felt that Jerome would not mind. 

"I stand it because of her. She makes Mineral Springs lovely where it would be vile. She isn't perfect and neither am I, but Esme, for all that she performs her role in society, longs for the calm comfort of reality. I make this city home for her and she for me." Jerome smiled at Olivia. "If I may offer a bit of advice, find a woman who you can love. Love is what gives this town color."

Olivia knew, of course, that Jerome's advice was useless to her, but she returned his warm smile anyway. "Thank you for caring, Jerome. It means a lot." 

"Certainly! I want you to make the most of your time here. Your poetry is going to evolve; that is only natural. I just want to be sure that you're enjoying life as well."

"I am. Sometimes, this opportunity still doesn't feel real." Olivia admitted. 

"But it is! And you've got what it takes, Oliver." Jerome touched Olivia's shoulder affectionately. With that, they turned to the poems in her manuscript, and Olivia felt lighter than she had in days. 

xxx

Though her meeting with Jerome left her feeling light and hopeful, Olivia was soon visiting Georgina for her second piano lesson, suppressing the sensation of dread rising in her throat as she sat at the old Steinway in Georgina's home and tried to imagine where the items Esme had described might be hidden and how on earth she might have an opportunity to search for them. For several weeks, she attended the lessons and, despite her welcoming attitude on the day of their first session, Georgina had been fairly serious since, ushering Olivia to the piano as soon as she arrived and dismissing her as soon as their time together had come to an end. Thus, searching Georgina's house for clues seemed impossible. For her fifth lesson, however, Olivia was surprised when Georgina encouraged her to "come into the backyard to see the fish pond." 

When Olivia stepped outside, she found herself in Georgina's well-maintained garden, surrounded by daffodils and lilies. Georgina gestured for her to come closer. "Do you see my little darlings?" she asked.

By "little darlings," Olivia supposed Georgina meant the long, slender fish swimming in circles in the murky pond below. Olivia couldn't help thinking that they didn't look like "darlings" at all. Their skinny bodies gave them a wild, hungry look and Olivia felt uncomfortable in their presence. However, she managed to respond politely, "They're charming." 

"Oh no they're not, you silly thing. They're absolutely vicious." Georgina exclaimed gleefully. 

"If they're vicious, why would you want them?" Olivia stammered. 

"Because of what they are!" Georgina said haughtily, "Look closely."

Olivia forced herself to stare at the unpleasant fish before her. As she looked at them, she felt as though she was missing the punch line of some joke. Aside from their intimidating appearance, there was nothing remarkable about the fish. "What do you mean?" she said at last. 

The tips of Georgina's lips lifted, but she didn't quite smile. "These fish are called Snook. Snook, as it happens, have an extraordinary ability: they can change their sex. Sometimes they are male, sometimes they are female, it depends on their whim." 

Olivia shuddered and involuntarily stepped back away from the pond. "Why would you find such creatures appealing?" she asked. 

Georgina's eyes met Olivia's. "For the same reasons that you might, I suspect."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Olivia demanded defensively. 

Georgina shrugged. "You tell me."

Olivia felt her blood run cold. Could Georgina possibly know? How could she know what no one else had guessed? "I don't know what you're talking about." Olivia said, but she heard her voice crack under the pressure. Nonetheless, she pressed on, feigning confidence. "And I can't imagine why you think I'd like to see something so unnatural. I'm here for a lesson. Could we get to that please?"

"Of course, my dear. I just thought you might like to see them. I guess I misunderstood you." Georgina's words were apologetic, but her tone was mocking. Olivia gritted her teeth. 

"You certainly did," she responded. 

The lesson that followed was a mess. Olivia constantly made mistakes, as her nerves were quaking. She felt both vulnerable and angry and was incapable of determining how best to deal with either emotional state. Even after leaving Georgina's home, she could find no relief from these feelings. The lights of Bathhouse Lane taunted her and she rushed through them and toward her quiet apartment. Once inside, she flung herself onto her bed and, for the first time in recent memory, Olivia allowed herself to weep. If Georgina had guessed at her identity, how many others had? How could she keep herself enrolled in the MFA program if word got out? How could she recover the items Esme needed if spending time with Georgina was potentially hazardous to her own well being? 

Although her situation was potentially grave, Olivia did not allow herself to wallow for long. After she had begun to gather herself once more, she determined that carrying out practical activities might bring her to a calmer state. Thus, she prepared a simple evening meal, and the ritual practice of doing so relaxed her somewhat. Once dinner was finished, she felt almost herself. Out of habit, she went out onto the landing outside of her apartment to see if any mail had been left for her. She was surprised. Given that she was living here in disguise, it wasn't often that much mail was addressed to her. This evening, however, seemed to be an exception. Upon her doorstep, covered in familiar scrawling handwriting, was an envelope. As Olivia picked up the envelope and examined it, she realized that the handwriting was familiar because she had seen it very recently on Jerome Squalor's desk: the letter was surely from Esme. 

Olivia attempted to open the envelop but her hands were trembling in such a way that she had to set the letter down on her small wooden table and light a cigarette to calm her nerves. When at last she felt steady enough, she opened the letter and read the contents within. 

"Oliver Darling, 

I believe I've finally discovered what to do with Georgina. I've spoken with her this afternoon, and I think I've developed an effective method of making her pay. Meet me in the Landon Bathhouse at 9:30 tonight. I have a key. I'll leave the rear door open so that you can enter. 

Love, 

Esme 

P.S.: When I dealt with that horrible woman this afternoon, she suggested to me that you may be more complicated than you seem. If that is so, know that I could never fault you for it. In fact, I admire you deeply. It is difficult to be a woman in this world and there is no right way to do it. In fact, I've a mind to celebrate your cleverness tonight. Bring your swimsuit. "

Despite the circumstances, Olivia beamed, noting the affection with which Esme addressed her throughout the brief note. When she reached the last few lines of the note, however, her blood froze in her veins. Esme knew her secret! There was no other way to interpret what she had read. Yet, she seemed almost to approve of Olivia's scheme to enter Tinchlin University in disguise. As she read Esme's words, she shivered, both delighted and anxious. She was still in the dark as to how Georgina had guessed at her identity, and rather mortified that she had imparted that information to Esme during their apparent confrontation that afternoon. All the same, she could not help but be thrilled that Esme approved of her plan to receive a man's education, and, astoundingly, it was this thrill—rather than her fear—that felt most overpowering initially. 

Though she felt excited and perhaps a bit relieved to be truly seen for the first time in over a year, her nervousness had not entirely abated, and she questioned the cleverness of meeting in the bathhouse. She was not surprised to learn that Esme had access to the bathhouses—she seemed to have access to any area of Mineral Springs she chose—but she did wonder whether a less public meeting space might serve them better. Olivia's anxiety grew the more that she considered all that had occurred in the last day. For some reason, she trusted Esme to keep her secret, but she knew Georgina would use it against her if she could prove it was true. Now, she, like Esme, had a reason to want to put an end to Georgina's presence in Mineral Springs. The thought made Olivia uneasy. 

Olivia had, of course, not packed a swimsuit when she had moved to the city, as she had never expected she would have a need for one. For tonight's purpose, she figured her underclothes would serve just as well. She checked the clock. It was already 9pm. With renewed purpose, Olivia ventured out of her apartment and into the streets beyond. 

xxx

Landon was the finest of the Mineral Springs Bathhouses. It was marked by an elegant golden dome crowning its roof, a decorative feature that often shimmered in the morning sunlight. In the anonymity of evening, however, it might have been any building. Carefully, Olivia tried the rear door and discovered that it was indeed unlocked. Gently, she pushed the old door, which moaned in response, and she was in. 

The bathhouse was bathed in gloom, but it remained enchanting. Olivia found herself standing in a room in which ornately decorated chairs surrounded a deep, wide pool from which thick steam was rising steadily. Forgetting herself for a moment, Olivia longed only to touch that spring water, to see if its healing powers were true or the merely the stuff of myth. Without another thought, she stripped down to nakedness and into the waters' warm embrace. She sighed. The waters were so hot that they burned her flesh, but the burning sensation quickly gave way to pleasure as she adjusted to the temperature. She scanned the pool, expecting that Esme was likely already relaxing somewhere within the smoggy steam and had missed her arrival. 

"And a fly has been caught in my web after all! I was starting to wonder." Olivia jerked at the sound of a voice from behind her, a voice that wasn't Esme's. She felt shocked, though she should not have been. For emerging from the other side of the room was Georgina Orwell. At once, Olivia knew that Esme wasn't coming, that she never had been, and that she had just inadvertently confirmed her darkest secret, placing herself at Georgina's mercy in the process.


	4. The Scandalous Shower

Submerged beneath the bathhouse waters, Olivia felt her blood turn to ice. Though the room was dimly lit, she could see Georgina standing in the corner, smoking and staring at her with an expression that was two parts triumphant and thoughtful. "Oh my dear," Georgina chuckled, "Don't be so surprised; your disguise is quite a convincing one, but I quickly knew it for a disguise. It was only a matter of time before this happened." 

"A matter of time?" Olivia asked incredulously, "What are you talking about? How did you know? How long?" Olivia hated how desperate she sounded, how distraught, but she couldn't help it. Now, Georgina held considerable power over her and she didn't like it. 

"So many questions. How did I know, you ask? Well, you have a certain air about you, one that reminds me of myself at your age. But when you first entered my home for your lesson, you lingered over my paintings. I saw you gazing at the images of women together, fucking each other. You looked at them so intently, so hungrily, and I knew at once you were like me."

"Like you?" Olivia spat, "I am nothing like you." 

"Aren't you? You're a woman that hungers for her own sex, a woman who longs to take a man's place in society. That much, at least, you cannot argue with. Yes, I suspected you as soon as I saw you look at my art, but I knew for certain when I saw your reaction to my Snook pond. I saw your defensiveness and I knew I was right. So I wrote you a letter I knew you couldn't refuse and, now, here you are." Georgina walked toward Olivia, who ventured further into the pool, away from the other woman's grasp. 

"I thought the letter was from Esme. You tricked me." 

"That's precisely my point, dearest. I knew you couldn't refuse a letter from Esme, especially one in which she insinuated that she sees you for who you really are and accepts you. That's what you truly want, isn't it? I understand your position, naturally; no one can dance too close to Esme without falling in love with her. But you must understand that she will never love you." As she spoke, Georgina's expression changed from mocking to rather sympathetic. Olivia noticed the shift and, for some reason, it made her feel bold. 

"I'm Olivia," she said, "And you're right about all of this, Georgina. What do you want from me? How are you going to use my identity against me?" She was surprised—and quite pleased—to hear how steady her voice sounded despite the circumstances. 

Georgina grinned playfully and Olivia knew that, somehow, she had hit the right notes. "I didn't say anything about exposing you, although I suppose you've just done that for yourself." 

Olivia's lip turned up in something like a snarl. "But that's why I'm here, isn't it? You're going to threaten me?"

Georgina shook her head. "That's not exactly what I had in mind for tonight."

Feigning disinterest, Olivia allowed her gaze to meet Georgina's. "What in heaven's name could you want then? You must want something from me, but I've nothing to give you." 

"That's debatable."

Olivia's eyes widened. "Well I don't know what you mean by that, but I want to know how you knew about Esme's plan. In the note you forged, you implied that you were aware of it."

Georgina laughed. "It was obvious. When one of Jerome Squalor's students came to take lessons with me, I thought you might be one of Esme's pets, come to spy on me. And when I saw you looking at my paintings, I knew you for another woman who she has managed to ensnare in her grasp." 

"Another woman?" Olivia asked," I wasn't under the impression that Esme was interested in other women. She claimed all involvement with you was not consensual." 

For the first time in the conversation, Olivia felt the energy shift. She pressed home her advantage. "I agreed to help Esme bring you down, but only because she confided in me. She told me of her wretched past and how you hurt her, how you abused her. How could I not want to help?" 

"Abused her?" Georgina cried, "I saved her! Oh she would say that, wouldn't she, the little minx. Always looking out for her own interests. Do you believe everything she says, Olivia? Don't you think she sees your weaknesses for what they are?"

"I believe her in this situation," Olivia said defensively. "Esme's arrogant; she wouldn't have disclosed what she did had she not deeply wanted help or support of some kind."

Georgina snorted. "Oh her sordid past is well known in Mineral Springs!"

"That may be, but it isn't something she likes bringing up. I had never even heard of it until she told me." Olivia trembled, but her voice remained strong. "What you did to her was wrong, Georgina."

"What I did to her?" Georgina hissed, "I gave Esme an opportunity when no one else would. If anything, she betrayed me. In any case, none of that matters now; what matters is that you are here with me, that I know your identity and could share it with anyone." Olivia gasped, although she had expected this turn of events. Before she could react, she saw a bright light flash before her eyes and she knew immediately that Georgina had just secured the proof she needed for her blackmail. "Unless you cooperate with me, all of Mineral Springs will know about your lie and I can assure you that Esme will never love you in spite of it—no one here will. You would leave this town in shame. Is that what you want?" 

Olivia thought quickly, the gravity of the situation finally sinking in. She knew that she had no ammunition to prove to the city police that Georgina was a corrupt madam—she had failed to find the items Esme had indicated would prove Georgina's guilt—and now Georgina had a picture of her naked female body in a bathhouse. It was true that she would now have to cooperate with Georgina, unless she was willing to do the unthinkable. Olivia shivered, though, to her surprise, not entirely with displeasure. She turned to Georgina, eyes narrowed, breath quick. "Very well. I can be cooperative. What did you have in mind?" Olivia asked the question, though she already knew the answer. It was an answer that confirmed all that Esme had insinuated about Georgina in Olaf's box at the racetrack. 

Georgina clasped her hands together, delight flashing in her eyes. "I think you know. Now come over here and let me touch you, my sweet. I'd never expose a lover. Your secret will be safe with me."

Flinching, Olivia waded over toward Georgina and pulled herself onto the side of the bath, greatly aware of every inch of her body and how it might appear to the fully clothed Georgina before her. She had never been so sure of the truth of Esme's story, and that thought strengthened her resolve. She had no doubt: she had to carry out the plan circling through her mind. 

So busy were her thoughts that Olivia didn't realize that Georgina was very nearby. She jumped as she felt Georgina's hands running over her pebbly, wet skin, and willed herself to remain in one place as Georgina fondled her. "See," the older woman whispered, "this isn't so bad, is it? Oh but you are beautiful! To have breasts like these again! How do you manage to hide them so well? I could never have guessed that they were so…full." Georgina's voice grew husky. Olivia had many times imagined intimacy with another woman, but never like this. She finally forced herself to react, recklessly tearing at Georgina's clothes as if in a passion. "Yes, my little fox," Georgina crowed. She began to remove her jacket and pants until she too was nude.

Olivia understood objectively that Georgina had an attractive figure for a woman of her age, but, under the circumstances, she found herself incapable of appreciating that fact. Rather than submitting to the older woman, Olivia decided to take charge. Hoping her inexperience would not place her at a disadvantage, Olivia pulled Georgina toward her, catching one of her breasts with her left hand while her right hand traveled downward toward the warm wetness of Georgina's core. 

Georgina, for her part, was unable to disguise her shock, but it was not, Olivia could tell, an unpleasant shock. She gasped as Olivia attempted to touch her as she touched herself in the secret depths of her small apartment on Bathhouse Lane. It was not as difficult as Olivia had imagined, as Georgina found her voice quickly and was calling out orders, "Harder, faster, yes! There! There my darling." Olivia took a deep breath and pressed onward. With renewed strength, she stroked Georgina's weakness until at last she felt the other woman stiffen beneath her hand. With a cry, Georgina grew slack and fell against Olivia. Elation stole over Olivia. She knew, instinctively, that the tables had fully turned. 

"Come with me," she said breathily, slipping back into the depths of the bathwater and pulling Georgina along with her. Like a dancer guiding her partner, Olivia led the other woman through the steamy waters and toward the left side of the shallow pool, which was distinguished by a series of shower –like fountains elegantly spouting water. 

"Where are you taking me, my sweet?" Georgina asked lightly. "Don't you want your own pleasure?" 

Olivia smiled and pushed Georgina toward the showers. "I'll show you what will give me pleasure."

Georgina chuckled low in her throat. "And what would that be?" she asked. 

Olivia leaned into her ear, knowing now that there could be no turning back. "Your death," she whispered. With these words, she pushed Georgina forcefully beneath the water. She could hear the older woman shriek beneath the steam, and Olivia found she could not look into her face. Georgina dug her fingernails into Olivia's skin with such force that the water was soon splashed with red, but still Olivia persisted, shakily completing her dark deed. 

In surprisingly short order, Georgina stopped struggling and Olivia knew that the deed was done. With some trepidation, Olivia allowed the corpse to float to the surface. Against her better judgment, her eyes were drawn to Georgina's lifeless ones, eyes that just moments before had been full of delight. Olivia turned away and vomited. 

Some time passed before Olivia was able to move again. She had solved two problems: she had avenged Esme's abuse and succeeded in protecting the secret of her own identity, but, of course, she had created another, much larger issue in taking Georgina's life. Georgina might have been wicked, and certainly there had been something about her Olivia had found threatening, but now that the fear had faded, she was no longer at all certain that this evil had been a necessary one. 

Shaky as she was, she could only think of one individual to whom she could go for help. She knew that Esme would be performing at Olaf's club, Gertrude's, that evening. Telling anyone what had taken place that evening was a risk, but this was not a burden she could carry alone. It was a risk she had to take. 

xxx

It was nearly midnight when Olivia, now fully Oliver once more, arrived at Gertrude's, just in time to see the end of Esme's set. Despite the outrageous events of the evening, she couldn't help but admire Esme's performance, her rich voice seeming to coat all of the empty space in the room. Esme was dressed in a flashy sequin gown and her long blonde hair was piled neatly on the top of her head, emphasizing her exquisite neck. At the sight of her, Olivia felt reaffirmed in her actions. At least Esme was free from any humiliation Georgina might have attempted to put her through. 

As Olivia walked deeper into Gertrude's parlor, the air seemed lighter somehow, as if the troubles of the world could not follow her into this sanctuary. She sighed and quickly found a table at which to sit in the back of the room. Olivia never minded being in public spaces alone; on the contrary, she often found that her own company allowed her to imagine the lives of others, an important tool for a writer. Even on this evening, when her nerves were shot, she was not immune to joyous sensation that came over her whenever she was able to watch the people of Mineral Springs interact with one another. 

Olivia's interest in her surroundings briefly stripped her of all awareness and it was thereby easy for Olaf McReggens to catch her by surprise. "Oliver, isn't it?" he asked, surprised, "Whatever are you doing here tonight? This isn't a place for school boys."

Olivia jumped with surprise at suddenly becoming the subject of Olaf's attention, and she had to take a moment to compose herself. "I come here often," she said at last, "whether or not you've noticed." 

"I'm a busy man as you know. It is not for me to notice every patron who comes to my club. All the same, I'm glad you've been coming. Its pleasant to think that I'm corrupting a few of Jerome's students at least." Olaf laughed darkly at his own comment, while Olivia flinched. If only that man knew how corrupt Mineral Springs had inspired her to become. 

"What's wrong, boy?" Olaf asked, breaking into Olivia's thoughts, "Did I say something to trouble you?" 

Olivia shook her head. "No, it isn't that. It is just that what you said is true. Not that you've corrupted me, but that Mineral Springs does that. No matter what kind of person you are when you come here, you sure as hell aren't that person by the time that you leave."

"Speak for yourself," Olaf said with a shrug, "I don't feel I've changed a bit. What's a church boy like you got to feel guilty for anyway? You've been spending too much time with Georgina, I bet. If I were you, I would limit how much time you spend with that woman. She's a worthless bitch and her corruption could spread to anyone."

The room around Olivia began to spin violently. She had felt almost normal until Olaf had explicitly mentioned Georgina. Now, she felt that she might be ill once more. She turned sharply away from Olaf, feebly attempting to hide that she was shaking. She felt Olaf's hand at her back, as if in an effort to steady to her, and she was at once surprised and touched by the gesture. 

"What's come over you, Oliver? I know we've got great booze in my place, but it looks as though you're drinking above yourself." 

The humor and concern with which Olaf addressed her were oddly comforting and Olivia found herself near tears before she could hide them. "I did something horrible," she managed, "Maybe it won't seem horrible to you, but I don’t know that I can bear it."

Olaf pulled back slightly, but kept his hand on Olivia's back. "What do I look like to you, a therapist? If Mineral Springs isn't your scene, you should leave before it eats you alive."

"It already has!" Olivia whimpered, "I killed Georgina Orwell tonight."

At this, Olaf stepped back several feet, staring at Olivia in disbelief. "You did what?"

"I killed Georgina," Olivia repeated, "Tonight at Landon Bathhouse. She lured me there, sent me a note making me think she was Esme. When I met her there, she told me that she knew I was trying to help Esme condemn her for her past deeds, and she said she'd leave Esme alone if I had…if I had sex with her. So I did. Then she tried to drown me and, when I overpowered her, I drowned her instead. I just wasn't thinking." Tears of panic fell from Olivia's cheeks as she spoke, heedless of her desire to hide her emotional state. Though she had modified some of the facts, the story she had conveyed to Olaf was close enough to a recounting of the harrowing events at the bathhouse that she found herself reeling. 

Olaf, for his part, was smiling, a broad cheeky grin that Olivia felt could light the entirety of the dingy parlor. "My god, you aren't like Jerome's other boys, are you? No wonder Esme likes you. You've done all of Mineral Springs—not to mention me—a great service, Oliver. With Georgina dead, things will get simpler around here."

Olivia knew what Olaf meant by that. He would now again rule over Mineral Springs with no competition. Olivia's gut twisted; perhaps that was the true reason Esme had asked her to spy on Georgina. Perhaps this whole ordeal had been nothing more than one of Olaf's schemes. As this disturbing notion crossed her mind, her thoughts were drawn, paradoxically, to the way that Esme had pleaded with her, described Georgina's abuse, and the way in which Georgina had insisted that Olivia herself have sex with her as a "price" for her secret. With these thoughts in mind, she suddenly felt certain that ensuring Olaf's triumph over Georgina was not the primary reason Esme had enlisted her help. 

After catching her breath, Olivia said, "Well I guess I'm happy to be of service to you, but I'm afraid that the price is going to be my own head. I can't lie about something like this."

"Where is the body?" Olaf asked, sounding quite business-like, Olivia thought. 

"Still in the bath," Olivia said quietly, trying to prevent the image from haunting her mind. "I didn't think to move it."

Olaf's grin grew wider. "You're not a natural then, but you'll do."

"I'll do?" Olivia squeaked. 

"Yes. There is a way to keep you out of prison, Oliver, my boy. See, the police never molest my people. If you were to join my men, you'd be in no trouble even if someone did discover that you were behind the murder." Olaf slapped Olivia on the back, "It’s a foolproof plan!"

Olivia gulped. Joining Olaf McReggens' gang was not at all what she would consider to be a foolproof plan. It wasn't an offer that she was certain she could refuse, however, especially given the current circumstances. Joining would provide her with protection and the ability to complete her degree. She was not certain how she would manage to wiggle out of the gang after the conclusion of the degree, but that was an issue for the future. For the moment, she needed security. So, although every inch of her protested, her lips responded, "What an honor! I'd be absolutely delighted. I do hope, though, that my actions tonight won't land you in any kind of trouble."

Olaf shook his head dramatically, "Of course not! Like I said, the police don't mess with my people. Welcome aboard, Oliver! I think you'll find that Mineral Springs is not so disagreeable when you see it as a member of my family."

Family, Olivia mused, how twisted to call such an organization that word. All the same, she gave Olaf her best false smile, a smile that rapidly melted into a real one when she saw that Esme, who had finished her set, was rapidly approaching and calling her name affectionately, "Oliver, my pet! What a lovely surprise!" 

At the sight of her, Olivia's heart melted. "Esme," she said, "Oh I am glad to see you." 

"And glad I am to hear it! Come, Darling, let me buy you a drink." Her eyes widened and she turned to Olaf, "I hope you've been kind to Oliver."

"Kind to him!" Olaf exclaimed, "Esme, I'm prepared to buy this young man a mansion on the south side of town. He's done Mineral Springs the greatest service anyone has done for the city in the last ten years."

Esme's mouth parted, revealing her large teeth, "Why Olaf, I can scarcely recall having seen you so exercised. What on earth are you on about?" 

"Esme, love, Oliver has killed Georgina tonight."

Esme recoiled as if she had been slapped. "What are you saying, Olaf?" she was shaking her head, as if in disbelief. Olivia, who had never seen the usually composed Esme in such a state, was horrified. 

"Esme," she said desperately, "I can explain. It was an accident."

Olaf cut in, "Don't apologize for what you've done, Oliver, it was a wonderful thing." He turned to Esme and snapped, "What's the matter with you? Oliver has just saved us a world of heartache, and you are behaving like an ingrate."

"I am no ingrate," Esme retorted, deliberating turning away from Olaf and toward Olivia. Up close, she was breathtakingly beautiful. "Oliver, Darling," she said softly, as if to a child, "What happened?"

At once, Olivia found herself near tears again. "She wrote me a letter, pretended to be you. Said to meet her at the Bathhouse. I met her there and she tried to kill me. I didn't know what else to do." 

Like a chameleon, Esme's expression of hurt folded into one of sympathy. She pulled Olivia into her arms, and Olivia was enveloped by the scent of her sugary perfume. "My dear Oliver, I'm so sorry I ever put you in this position. She was a violent woman. None of this is your fault."

"No, I'm sorry," Olivia muttered, "I'm sorry I failed you. I was trying to carry out your plan. She just figured me out. I never wanted to hurt anyone."

"That's an attitude that you'll need to change now that you'll be working for me, Oliver." Olaf interrupted, "I think you'll find that some people do need to be hurt and hurt profoundly." 

"You're joining him?" Esme released Olivia abruptly, "I do hope you know what you're doing, Darling," she said shortly, and with that, she turned on her silver heels and walked away from Olivia and Olaf before either could protest. Olivia felt the heat of dismay waft over her. 

Olaf groaned. "I don't know what has come over her tonight. I was hoping your news would cheer her since my upcoming announcement certainly won't." He patted Olivia's shoulder, "Anyway, good on you tonight. Glad to have you in the group." Olivia allowed him to walk away, too bewildered to ask what he had meant by an announcement. 

Olivia was not left to wonder long, however, as Olaf strode boldly toward the stage. As he passed the various happy tables in the parlor, all of the guests grew silent. When he got to the stage, he smiled broadly, "I hope everyone is having a good evening." The guests clapped and cheered in response. "I interrupt you only briefly to make an exciting announcement. I will, at the conclusion of this month, be marrying Violet Baudelaire, the beautiful daughter of our Mayor Bertrand Baudelaire. All of you, my guests, are invited to attend the reception in the lobby of the Talbot hotel. Please wear your best and come celebrate with me!"

The crowd cheered. Olivia, who had already endured enough shocks for the night, felt her breath quicken. Her eyes immediately sought Esme, who was motionless in the left-hand corner of the parlor, her face obscured in the relative darkness of the room. Olivia was not surprised to learn of Olaf's plans to marry the young, wealthy mayor's daughter—it only made sense that he wanted to further secure his powerful position within Mineral Springs—but she could not help but feel sorrow for Esme, knowing that, regardless of whether it should, Olaf's marriage would be a blow to her. Olivia watched as Esme walked swiftly toward the entrance to Gertrude's and out onto the Bathhouse Lane. Without thinking, Olivia followed her. As she pushed her way through the crowds and toward the door, she brought a hand to her face and found that it was still coated in Georgina's scent.


	5. The Woeful Wedding

As Olivia exited Gertrude’s, she caught sight of Esme swiftly making her way down one of the many alleyways that stretched away from Bathhouse Lane. Olivia was thankful for the simplicity of pants—far less cumbersome than skirts would have been—as she made her way after the other woman without questioning why or what she would say to her once she reached her. From a safe distance, Olivia noticed that Esme’s gait slowed once she slipped into the darkness of the alleyway. How droll, she thought, that a wealthy socialite like Esme would be most comfortable shrouded within the dusky obscurity of night. It occurred to Olivia that Esme was taking the route that would pass Georgina’s home before terribly long, and she realized with a jolt that that was, for some reason, likely Esme’s destination. Against her better judgment, she continued to follow at a discreet distance. 

Within a few minutes, Olivia saw that her concerns were founded. Esme approached Georgina’s door with trepidation, as though afraid of being caught. From her handbag, she pulled out a slender key which she fit into the lock with ease. Olivia questioned whether following Esme was wise, but she had nothing better to do with the evening and, after the events at Landon Bathhouse, she doubted if she would ever again be able to care about what was wise or expected, at least not in the same way that she once had. 

When Olivia tried the door to Georgina’s home, she found that Esme had left it unlocked. Hands trembling, she turned the doorknob and found herself in the dark hallway in which, despite her efforts to ignore them, Georgina’s vivid paintings haunted her. Esme was not in the hallway, the sitting room, or the kitchen, which were all essentially connected in the quaint house. Olivia walked toward the staircase and territories unknown. Upstairs, she walked through a roomy, elegant bedroom that she did not consider closely. On the left side of the bedroom was a small balcony that looked over Georgina’s garden with its lush flowers and demented fish, and it was on that balcony that Esme Squalor was standing, gazing into the darkness below, tears falling from her eyes. Olivia could wait no longer. “Esme, what on earth are you doing here?”

Esme jumped in response, and Olivia felt a flash of guilt over following the other woman to begin with. “Oliver,” she shrieked, flustered, “How dare you follow me? What do you want?”

Olivia blushed despite herself. “I wanted…I wanted to make sure that you were safe. You left so suddenly, I thought-”

“You thought you’d play the hero, then?” Esme asked, her voice laced with sarcasm, “I don’t need a hero, Oliver. I’ve never met a man who played a good one, at any rate.”

“What of Jerome?” Olivia quipped, “Not all heroes are the loud sort.”

“I love him, but he’s a coward. You don’t understand him like I do.”

Olivia felt a twinge of anger at hearing her kind mentor referred to in this way by the wife that he loved so fiercely, but she tried to push it aside. “Esme, none of this explains why you’re in Georgina Orwell’s house tonight. How did you get a key? Surely this isn’t a safe place for either of us to be. Do you want to be accused of the murder?”

Esme grasped the balcony railing in a manner that was both aggressive and defensive. “Of course not. I’m not going to be and neither are you. Olaf is going to ‘take care of it,’ remember? Or have you already forgotten that you agreed to join the gang?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Olivia retorted, “Listen, this has been the worst night of my life. I’m no killer. Georgina lured me to the bathhouse and tried to take my life. Now, I’ve got to join a criminal outfit to keep living my life. So don’t try and act as though this is something I wanted either. I wish I had the whole day to do differently.” At this, Olivia’s voice broke and she silently cursed the hot tears on her own face. Esme was, to her dismay, watching her closely. 

“You’re a sensitive man, like Jerome,” she said after a moment, “but you’re no coward, Oliver. I’m here tonight because I wanted to get my hands on Georgina’s journals and on that whip with my initials on it. I had the thought that the police might—that someone might—find those items when cleaning out the house and I couldn’t bear the thought of such shame. And as for having a key to the place—well, a woman like me knows how to arrange a thing like that.”

Feeling foolish, Olivia sighed, “I should have guessed that that was what you were doing when I saw that you were coming this way. I was just worried, I suppose. I thought you might be hurt after Olaf, well, you know. I wanted to make sure that you were all right. I think a lot of you, Esme.”

Esme grinned warmly, like the heat that follows a summer rain. Olivia wanted to bask within her approval. “Oliver, Darling, I must seem mad to you.”

“Not at all!” Olivia exclaimed, “I only wonder why you are so worried about these items of Georgina’s. At most, they are evidence of her treachery toward the women who work for her, not of your own dishonor.”

“I’m afraid that she may have twisted the truth,” Esme spat bitterly, “Made it sound in her journals that it was somehow…consensual.” Her lips puckered, “I fear what the public might say if they knew I had been with another woman in that way, even if it was against my will. Who is to say how far my grip on the city extends, what with Olaf’s marriage. They might all be glad to think of me as the perverse past and this Violet as the clean future if they can get away with it.”

“She could never be you,” Olivia cut in, “there is no one like you. Forget Georgina’s things. They’ll be destroyed when someone new buys the house and no one will think of them or the horrid things she did to you. People will think of your grace and charm—of you-- forever.”

Esme’s piercing eyes met Olivia’s. “What do you think of me, Oliver?”

Olivia faltered. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“It is very simple. What do you think of when you think of me? How do I make you feel?”  
The question, Olivia felt, could not have been more complicated. Finally, she said, “You’re the most extraordinary person I have ever met, unapologetically yourself. Perhaps you’re mad, but I don’t care. Violet Baudelaire could never be you—no one could. You are Mineral Springs, and everyone who comes to this city, for better or worse, falls in love with you. You know it is true and you ask me to torture me.” Olivia was panting, her body trembling, but she could not take back what she had said. 

Esme, for her part, extended a hand to Olivia. “Come, Oliver,” she said softly. Olivia walked toward Esme and took her hand. As she did, Esme pulled Olivia toward her. Olivia was suddenly aware of the softness of her own body, and she nearly pulled away, out of shame and fear that Esme would touch her and know. Before she could gain the space she desired, though, Esme’s lips were on hers, and Olivia found that all of her concerns at once felt irrelevant. Though she had a writer’s imagination, she could never have envisioned a night on which she committed murder and adultery within the space of a few hours, but, if such events could occur, surely Mineral Springs was the place in which they would. Guilt over the adultery would come, she knew, but it would sting less than it might have in alternate, more reasonable universe in which Olivia Caliban never killed Georgina Orwell. It was as if the evening’s sins gave her permission to enjoy Esme’s kiss and all that might come with it. 

But what could come with it? Esme would certainly uncover her identity were the pair to become intimate. Though this astounding person apparently found her desirable, she would rethink her stance if she knew she was kissing a “perverse” woman, no better than Georgina. These thoughts overwhelmed her, thrusting her out of this moment about which she had so often dreamed and she stepped away from Esme. “I can’t,” she said, hearing how weak she sounded, “I just can’t.”

“I suppose, then, that you don’t feel for me the way that I thought.” Esme said sharply, turning away from Olivia. 

“No!” Olivia cried, “I’m afraid that I do.” Quickly, she thought of the most obvious explanation for her behavior. “Its Jerome. I’m his student. I can’t do this to him.”

Esme rolled her eyes and huffed. “You’re loyal to Jerome in all the ways that count, Oliver. You know I wouldn’t leave him. I’m only suggesting that we enjoy each other a bit now, that we—that you—deserve it. The one thing Jerome would never begrudge you is falling in love with me, after all. Please tell me you’ll consider my offer or I’ll be badly hurt.” 

There was something pouty and playful in Esme’s expression that made Olivia feel as though she could refuse her nothing. “What offer?” she asked, though she knew the answer.

“The offer to become your lover, of course”

There it was. Confirmation of Olivia’s expectation. Though she knew what her answer had to be, she found, as was often the case with Esme, that that was not the answer that came out of her mouth. “If you promise me that you’ll leave this wretched old house and all of its memories, I will deeply consider your offer.”

“Deeply?” Esme smirked, “I like to imagine you doing a few things deeply, my dear”

Olivia’s cheeks reddened, but she found her voice. “Well maybe imagination can become reality if you leave this house with me. Please, Esme, it isn’t good for you.”

To Olivia’s amazement, Esme agreed without a fuss, and soon they were standing on the doorstep of Georgina’s home. “Well, I’ve upheld my end of our bargain,” Esme said, “what about yours?”

Olivia leaned forward and kissed Esme on her lips. Esme let out a yelp of surprise, and Olivia was proud to have inspired such feeling in her. She allowed herself to enjoy this kiss. Even if this situation with Esme went up in smoke, she would have this moment committed to her memory. 

Esme was the first to pull away. “I have to be off,” she said, “I’ll be looking forward to hearing from you soon, Darling.”

With that, she strode off into the night, leaving Olivia in a daze, wondering how she could pursue such an affair and whether she could even justify it. Overriding such concerns though, was the overwhelming delight that was now consuming every facet of her being. Esme Squalor felt for her! If only for a night, a moment, she felt for her. More than ever, Olivia wished that she could morph into Oliver permanently. Were she capable of such a thing, she felt she might even attempt to dethrone Jerome by earning the highest place in Esme’s heart. 

xxx

Once tucked away in her bed, Olivia was restless, unable to find sleep. The evening’s events had been such that she was afraid she might be awake for days to come, overwhelmed as she was with astonishment, pleasure, and horror. Mineral Springs was surely a devil’s city. Olivia no longer wanted to look into the mirror in her drafty loft bedroom, afraid she might see a devil glancing back where once she had seen an excited student. By the time she rose in the morning, she had slept scarcely two hours and any elation over Esme’s apparent desire for her had faded and been replaced by a raging fear. How would any relationship with Esme be feasible, even a temporary one? Becoming her lover was simply not an option. Olivia had always prided herself on problem solving, but this was no ordinary problem. Thus, she concluded that the only solution would be to refuse Esme’s offer, as much as it pained her. The thought put Olivia in quite a bad mood, and she remained flustered until she left her apartment to walk to the grocery store. On her walk, to her surprise, she ran right into Jacquelyn, the woman who had led her to Oakwood racetrack not long ago, the woman that worked at Gertrude’s. 

When Jacquelyn saw Olivia, she smiled, showing her pretty, even teeth in a way that was simultaneously inviting and predatory. “Oliver, I thought I might find you here.”

“What do you need?” Olivia asked, more harshly than she had meant. 

“Goodness!” Jacquelyn exclaimed, “It sounds like what you need is a coffee for some energy. Did someone slip some grumpy pills into your breakfast this morning?”

Despite herself, Olivia chuckled, “I’m sorry. I’m just not feeling myself. I presume you know about what happened with Georgina by now.”

Jacquelyn nodded, “I know it was a harrowing ordeal for you, but everyone who works for Olaf is damn grateful. That woman was all kinds of trouble. We really owe you.”

Feeling brave, Olivia retorted, “Well I’m glad it has gotten me in your good graces at least. Can I help you today?” 

“As it happens, yes. See, Olaf wants me to take the day off and go clean out Georgina’s home. He’s out speaking with the police, and believe me, they won’t create any fuss unless Olaf runs out of money—which will never happen of course! So you’re under the protection of the gang. He’s paying the cops off, and you and I are supposed to search the house for anything that Olaf might consider valuable.”

“Why would he want anything from Georgina?” Olivia asked, confused. 

Jacquelyn shrugged. “Olaf claims that Georgina was known for keeping records. He wants to see the records, to know how well her club was doing before she was killed. Look, I love the boss, but if you ask me, I think he’s getting a little paranoid. He wants to understand how Georgina became successful enough to rival him in such a short period of time, and he thinks her journals are going to reveal that.” 

“I doubt it,” Olivia said bluntly, “And I expect her journals are hard to find. She seemed the secretive sort. Esme encouraged me to take lessons so that I might see if I could find some of her journals, but I never did.”

“Maybe we can find something else to impress the boss.” Jacquelyn said, “Anyway, he asked me to take you with me for this task and, now that you work for him, you aren’t at liberty to say no.” Jacquelyn smiled, and Olivia couldn’t help but respond in kind. 

“Lead the way, Mistress,” Olivia said. Despite her circumstances, she felt a bit lighter as she followed Jacquelyn down the all too familiar path to Georgina’s house. The house already seemed less alive than it had last night, as if its old walls had had time to come to terms with the inevitability of their owner’s death. Olivia felt less spooked by the sight of the house in daylight. 

“How are we going to get in?” Olivia asked, suddenly realizing that, unlike Esme, neither of them had a key to the place. 

“Like this!” Jacquelyn cried. Her manicured nails closed around a stone in the flowerbeds and she threw it through the front window, shattering it completely. “Come on,” she said. 

Once inside, Jacquelyn worked with a confidence that took Olivia by surprise. She watched as the other woman opened drawers and cabinets, searching for her quarry at a rapid speed, carelessly turning over Georgina’s well-kept home. Olivia looked through the cabinets and crannies of the house as well, but with far less zeal. She felt she had done enough damage to Georgina without ransacking the house as well. 

After a few moments, she heard Jacquelyn give a squeak and she hurried toward her, unable to conceal her curiosity. “What is it?” Olivia asked. 

Jacquelyn thrust something into Olivia’s hands. As she looked down, she found herself staring at a long dildo. As quickly as she had received it, she pushed it back into Jacquelyn’s grasp. “Why would you think I’d want this? Are you really surprised that she had such a thing?”

Jacquelyn shook her head. “Of course not. But this isn’t any toy, Oliver. Watch.” Jacquelyn pushed the dildo forcefully against Georgina’s antique sofa, and some thick liquid slipped out of its head. “Its fake cum!” she chortled. “Georgina probably used to strap this on when she’d fuck the women who worked for her. Here’s the strap too.” Jacquelyn pulled out a long item that resembled a leather belt. “She always did want to play the man. This takes it to a new level, though.”

For a moment, Olivia was speechless. This item Jacquelyn had found, vulgar or no, was a potentially solution to the problem that had been plaguing her mind. “Olaf and Esme wanted me to find evidence of Georgina’s perversity. This isn’t the evidence Esme was specifically seeking, but I think I should probably bring this to her all the same.”

Jacquelyn nodded. “Suit yourself. I don’t care what you do with that thing and I doubt anyone else will either.”

So it was that Olivia gained possession of the strap and the belt. Possession of these items did not give her complete confidence that she could succeed in hiding her identity from Esme were she to become her lover, but she did think that, in the right lighting and with the right story, things might fall into her favor. And if there was one thing Olivia Caliban was good at now, it was crafting the right story. 

xxx

Olivia’s nerves were such that she succeeded in avoiding Esme until the evening of Olaf’s wedding to Violet Baudelaire. Since encountering Esme in Georgina’s home, she had poured herself into work for Olaf, which mostly consisted of keeping his books. In her anxiety over Esme, Olivia was able to put Georgina and that terrible evening in the bathhouse out of her mind. When the weekend of the wedding arrived, Olivia dressed in her finest suit and even bought a stylish new fedora from one of the boutiques on Bathhouse Lane. She knew she would see Esme. She wasn’t sure if she was ready. What if Esme was angry over Olivia’s silence? The thought was somehow unbearable, and Olivia forced it from her mind. 

Though very few people were truly attending Olaf’s wedding, most of the town was invited to the reception in the lobby of the Talbot Hotel. Olivia walked to the hotel leisurely, smoking a cigarette in an attempt to calm her nerves. When she reached the gilded doors that lead into the lobby, a doorman ushered her in warmly. The lobby, always glamorous, was all the more so tonight. It looked as though every inch of it had been polished for the big event. In spite of the circumstances, Olivia felt happiness bubble within her. The lively people of Mineral Springs were playing cards, dancing, drinking, and, for the most part, everyone looked admirably glamorous. In such crowds, Olivia liked the idea that she could disappear into the throng, that no one would notice her. As she made her way through the groups of people mingling and talking, she finally caught sight of Olaf, looking as dapper as he ever had with his hair slicked back and deep red rose upon his lapel. Beside him was a willowy woman in a wedding dress who had to be Violet Baudelaire. She was quite young and extraordinarily beautiful and delicate, as though a fierce wind might be enough to knock her to the floor. Her petite form was almost comical next to Olaf’s, but her charming beauty and apparent innocence were so compelling that it was easy to understand why he had wanted her to be his wife. Olaf did always covet the loveliest things.

“What do you think?” Esme’s voice took Olivia by surprise, and she jumped in spite of herself. “Is she more beautiful than I am?”

Olivia, stunned that Esme had found her so quickly, took a moment before replying. “She’s beautiful, but in the way that a porcelain doll is. She’s too perfect. The greatest beauty stems from a person’s essence as much as from their form. No essence is greater than yours.”

Esme’s lips curled into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Spoken like a true poet! I’m glad to hear you still think these things. I was rather afraid you’d thrown me over, you know. I haven’t heard from you in over two weeks.”

“Its been busy,” Olivia said lamely, “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

Esme groaned. “Don’t we all? Listen Oliver, if you’re not interested in my offer, just say so. It would be the first time that anyone has. Maybe that will be a new experience for me.” 

No doubt Esme’s comment was intended to be humorous, but it sounded flat in Olivia’s ears. Rather than addressing what Esme had said, she grasped the blonde’s long hand in her hers. “Dance with me,” she said. It wasn’t a question. 

“Dance with you? In front of Olaf and his new bride?” Esme laughed, “I’m not sure that that is an offer I could refuse if I tried, Darling.”

“Glad I am to hear it.” Olivia replied, and, with more confidence than she actually felt, she led Esme into the center of the lobby. Once they reached their destination, a hush fell over the room. It was as though everyone wanted to see Olaf’s reaction to a young, handsome man dancing with Esme. Olivia dared not look at Olaf, but she felt that he likely wouldn’t object. She had so firmly placed herself in Olaf’s good graces through Georgina’s murder that she knew that there was little he would not excuse at the moment. As Olivia began to lead the dance, she forced herself to look into Esme’s eyes, which glistened with some temporary sadness that faded as soon as it had arrived. Esme looked toward the floor, as if the brief display of emotions had somehow shamed her. “Esme, look at me,” Olivia said firmly, “There is no one more beautiful.” It was true. This evening, Esme wore a gown of green silk that was both flattering and oddly conservative for her. It was as if she hadn’t wanted to be noticed in the way that she normally did, but it didn’t matter. The whole room was gazing at her anyway. 

As though comforted by her words, Esme inched closer to Olivia. “There is so much you couldn’t understand,” she muttered cryptically, “And yet that makes you all the more appealing to me.” She placed a brief kiss on Olivia’s cheek. The saxophone whined behind them, as the band slipped into a slower number for Olaf and his bride. Taking this as their cue to exit the dance floor, Olivia and Esme found a table near the back of the lobby and settled down. 

“I’ll get us some drinks,” Olivia said, “Don’t run away while I’m gone.”

“Oh Darling, I wouldn’t dream of it.” Esme drawled flirtatiously, sending ripples down Olivia’s spine. When she returned with the drinks a few minutes later, Esme seemed to have shaken off some of her sadness. In its place was a sort of manic energy that characterized her countenance as she said, “This night would have been worthless without you. Perhaps my life as well. It has all been worthless these last few years. Don’t you ever feel like that? Like none of it means anything?”

“Does it have to mean anything?” Olivia asked, “Why are you saying these things? Don’t you like your life here? What about Jerome?”

“What about him? We’ve discussed this before, Oliver. I don’t want to go into it again. Jerome knows what I am. He knows how bored I get and how quickly.” Esme sighed, “Sometimes I wish he’d take me away from here, but he’d never leave that job at the university. What was your life like before Mineral Springs?”

“Empty.” Olivia said, flatly. “Now it has color and shape.”

“We must have different notions of what that means.” Esme said. “In any case, Darling, I’ve rented a room for us on the second floor. Say you’ll come with me.”

Olivia’s legs became jelly. “Oh Esme, I couldn’t possibly-”

“Watch it. I’m getting the impression you don’t care after all.”

“That is far from the case and you know it. Let me get my things from the coat closet, and I’ll be at your disposal.” Olivia heard the shake in her voice, but was helpless to quell it. The item she had discovered at Georgina’s was in her briefcase in the coat closet. She had had the thought that perhaps Esme would seek intimacy that evening, but, now that she was confronted with the possibility, she felt shaken. By engaging in such an affair, she had everything to lose, but refusing was not an option either. 

When she returned with the briefcase, Esme was staring miserably into the center of the room were Olaf and Violet were shoving cake into one another’s mouths. Olivia cleared her throat, and Esme was pulled away from the troubling sight. “I’m ready to go when you are.” Olivia said. 

“Then there is no sense in waiting,” Esme said, “Come.” With that, Olivia and Esme made their way to the back of the lobby where two golden elevators were situated. As they entered one of the elevators, Esme pushed the button for the seventh floor, the door closed, and silence fell. 

Once on the seventh floor, Esme handed Olivia the brass key and told her the room number. As Olivia tried to unlock the door, Esme nibbled and kissed her neck. “How can I focus when you are doing that?” Olivia managed shakily, “I can’t unlock the door.”

“Perhaps, then, we’ll have to have our way with each other right here and now.” Esme said mischievously. Olivia’s loins burned at the thought as she finally succeeded in turning the key in the lock. The old door creaked as it swung open to reveal an elegant suite featuring a four-poster bed with a canopy, a kitchen decorated with champagne and streamers, and cream-colored wallpaper. On the opposite side of the room, floral printed curtains hid what must have been an exquisite view of Bathhouse Lane. 

Esme squealed. “They told me this room was perfect for an exceptional evening. I’m pleased that they didn’t disappoint me this time.” 

Olivia was jolted back to reality. Esme expected something from this evening. How on earth was she going to deliver? 

If Esme sensed Olivia’s discomfort, she didn’t let on. Instead, she noisily uncorked the champagne bottle and poured the liquid into two matching wine glasses. “Cheers, Darling!” she said merrily. Her merriment was contagious, and Olivia soon found herself indulging in the champagne and feeling looser by the second. Once she had finished her glass, Esme leaned over and gave Olivia a smoldering kiss. “Oh Oliver, I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you.”

“How?” Olivia asked incredulously, “I’m just a student. You’re…well…you.”

“Stop it! You sound like Jerome—so in love with the idea of me that he misses me altogether. But you! I’ve always felt you saw me. Do you see me, Oliver?”

“I hope so. I see someone I could never resist.”

Esme kissed Olivia again. “That’s good enough for tonight,” she said, as she deftly started to remove Olivia’s suit. At this, Olivia jumped away instinctively. 

Esme’s face shifted from desire to horror. “Honestly, Oliver, I have a hard time believing that you want me at all.”

Olivia shuddered, “That’s not it. It is just that…that, you see, I suffered a bad injury as a child.” Olivia had planned this lie in advance, but somehow, that didn’t make telling it any easier. She found she couldn’t meet Esme’s gaze. “I’m scarred all over. I don’t want anyone to see me.”

Esme tilted her head and her expression softened. “Oliver, I’ve seen worse than a few scars in my day.” 

“Even so, I don’t want you to see them. I want you to think me as beautiful as I think you. If we are to be lovers, I insist you don’t see me, at least for now. I want to focus on loving you, not my disfigurement.” Olivia stopped, hopeful that Esme would accept her story. 

“If that pleases you, Darling, I’ll get the lights, I’ll close my eyes. Just don’t push me away.”

Olivia relaxed, every muscle within her going slack as she recognized that, for whatever reasons, Esme wanted this as badly as she did. The freedom she felt emboldened her, and she kissed Esme as fiercely as she had ever kissed anyone. Esme moaned, and the room became a magical space. When they broke apart, Esme was breathless. “That was some preview,” she said. 

Olivia kissed her cheek again. “Just wait for the rest,” she said. “I’m going to the restroom to freshen up a bit. Get the lights and I’ll see you here in a moment.”

“Freshen up?” Esme whined, “I want you now. Be quick about it, Darling.”

“I will.” Olivia replied softly. She retreated into the safety of the bathroom, where she had placed her briefcase earlier. Olivia turned on the sink, hoping Esme would think she was cleaning herself before re-emerging. As stealthily as she could, she slipped into the strap-on that she had found in Georgina’s home. When she opened the door and stepped back into the bedroom shortly afterward, Esme was lying on the bed, completely naked. Her eyes were closed. Olivia was surprised that she had taken her suggestion so seriously. For a moment, her eyes flickered over Esme’s form. Despite Esme’s taste for expensive clothing, Olivia immediately knew that she liked her best like this, long legs stretched across the bed, fingers pointed toward her womanhood, her breasts heaving. Olivia once again admonished herself for her own, Georgina-like perversity, but dismissed the shame after a moment. Tonight, thanks to Georgina’s toy, she felt like Oliver, and there could be nothing shameful about his union with the woman before her. 

“Oliver, is that you?” Esme purred, “Come touch me, please.”

The sound of Esme begging nearly brought Olivia to her knees. “Your wish is my command,” she said, hoping her voice sounded light in spite of her throat’s dryness. She made her way to the bed, marveling at how different this moment felt from the one in which she had touched Georgina weeks earlier. She knelt upon the bed and ran her hands over Esme’s body. She had left her shirt on to hide her breast bindings. No doubt Esme would think she had done so to hide scars. As she leaned down to kiss Esme’s full breasts, and felt Esme squirm beneath her, something primal broke loose within her body and the rest of the evening, to her astonishment, proceeded quite naturally. 

xxx

In the aftermath of their lovemaking, Esme had insisted on taking a bath in their room’s spectacular tub. The Talbot had a unique feature in that the hotel pumped hot spring water into each of the hotel rooms. Esme seemed convinced that the spring water had the ability to keep people young forever, and thus she was not going to pass up the opportunity to use it. Olivia sat behind her, hidden within one of the soft robes the hotel had left out for guests. Esme was blissful. They had finished the champagne, and the sex had sated her. “Oh, my dearest,” Esme was saying, “I haven’t been fucked that way in years. It wasn’t even fucking at all though, was it? You love me, I could feel it in the way you moved inside of me. Perhaps you’ve made me pregnant.” Esme laughed, “I can’t recall when I’ve felt such love.”

Olivia shivered, and felt wistful. She realized then that a part of her did wish that a child with Esme were a possibility. “For better or worse, I adore you,” she said, “I doubt if I was ever able to truly hide that.” 

“No,” Esme confirmed, “but I didn’t know you could do the things you did,” she closed her eyes, as if trying to replay their union in her mind. After a few minutes, she opened her eyes and gestured at the counter nearby. “Fetch me a cigarette, will you, Darling? I’m dying for a smoke.”

Olivia did as she was told. There was a heavy silence before Esme spoke again. When she did, her voice was low and desolate. “Do you know why I loved Olaf?” she asked, taking a long drag on her cigarette. 

Unsure if she was meant to answer, Olivia said, “I’m sure you had your reasons.”

“Reason.” Esme corrected, “I had once reason. Walk into the sitting room and open the curtains. You’ll see the reason.” 

Tentatively, Olivia approached the window. She threw open the curtains, and found that their view was overlooking the mental hospital near her apartment. Even the stylish art deco architecture could not spare the building its gloominess. Olivia quickly looked away. “I don’t see anything,” she said. 

Esme went on as though she hadn’t heard. “When I was a child, my parents decided that I was mad. They sent me to live in that horrible place you see there. That was my introduction to Mineral Springs. We weren’t even allowed to leave the building. I lived there for ten years before Olaf came and paid them off. Of course, being spared by a criminal means that a life of crime is the only way forward, but I’ve made the most of it. I shouldn’t have started by working for Georgina, but I never liked the idea of working for Olaf. Being around someone I love that much isn’t good for my health.”

Olivia’s head was suddenly swimming. “Why would your parents send you to that horrible place?”

Esme shook her head. “I’d rather not talk about that if it is all the same. Suffice it to say that they were the mad ones, not me.”

Olivia reached for Esme’s hand, but Esme didn’t return the gesture. Slightly stung, Olivia said, “I can’t imagine what that was like.” A few awkward seconds passed and Olivia continued, “I always want to be good for your health.”

Esme smiled broadly, “Oh you are, Darling. I’m not in love with you. That makes you most wonderful.” 

Olivia recoiled as if she had been slapped. She knew she had no right to be upset, but, after the evening they had had, Esme’s words seared through her and left her winded. “I need some air,” she said at last.  
Esme, blissful only a few moments ago, now seemed disconnected and sulky. “Suit yourself,” she said, and then, perhaps to soften the blow, she added, “Don’t be too long.”

Olivia nodded. She grabbed a cigarette from the counter and strode quickly onto the room’s balcony terrace. The night air was thick, but also cooler than usual, and Olivia fell into its embrace, as copious, uninvited tears made their way down her cheeks.


	6. The Malevolent Magic

When Olivia left the balcony and dragged herself back into the Talbot hotel room, she found that Esme had already slipped into bed and fallen asleep. Olivia thought that there could be no greater betrayal than Esme’s decision to fall asleep without saying goodnight. The devastation of being used tore through Olivia, and she impulsively packed her belongings. As she slunk away from the hotel in the early hours of morning, she half-ran, half-stumbled out of the still populated streets of Mineral Springs and into the safety of her loft apartment. She collapsed on her bed, praying—though she wasn’t the praying sort—that sleep would find her, but it proved elusive. Instead, she spent much of the night shivering, too exhausted to continue crying. At 8am that morning, she was mailing a letter to Jerome, a letter in which she told him, most politely, that it was against her better interests to remain enrolled in the poetry program, that she was sorry for any inconvenience that she might have caused, and that she wished him every happiness. Following her trip to the post office, Olivia retreated to her home, and remained there without leaving for three days. 

When she did finally emerge, she wasn’t surprised to see that she had received a reply to her letter. In remarkably few words, Jerome asked Olivia to consider having dinner with him. Olivia knew he would try to talk her out of leaving the program and the town, but she didn’t feel she could face him, not after sleeping with his wife and joining Olaf’s gang. At the same time, she was unsure of what other options she had. She could leave Mineral Springs, but go where? Back to the library? Could she put away Oliver and truly become Olivia again? The thought appalled her. By sundown, she had written a response to Jerome, ensuring him that she would have dinner with him the following Tuesday night, but she insisted that, instead of meeting at his grand lake house, they should meet at a local Italian restaurant. She had no desire to run into Esme. 

And so, for the first time in days, Olivia Caliban once again donned Oliver’s attire and journeyed to meet her mentor at Luna’s, a luxurious restaurant in the heart of Bathhouse Lane. When she arrived, she was unsurprised to see Jerome there waiting for her. His definition of punctuality seemed to be ten minutes early. He smiled broadly when he saw her, but she found she didn’t have the strength to respond in kind. “Oliver! So good to see you, chap. Come on over, have some wine with me!”

Olivia nodded gratefully, wondering how Jerome could stand to look at her now. Surely, everyone in town knew by now what had happened at the wedding, that she had danced with Jerome’s wife in front of everyone. She felt self-conscious, but not uncomfortable. She knew Jerome Squalor did not seek to trick or trap her. She decided to cut to the chase, “Jerome, I know my letter must have been a shock to you, and I’m sorry for that. It’s just that I’m simply not sure that I can remain in Mineral Springs. I do care about writing—more than I can say—but I think maybe this, despite your incredible tutelage, is not the best place for me to study the subject further. I’ve fallen into a bad situation here, made a fool of myself. I can’t understand why you’d want me to stay honestly.”

Jerome’s gaze was pitying, and it made Olivia wish she could disappear. When at last she could resist no longer, her eyes rose to meet his. “How could you forgive me for what I did? I’m aware that it is not polite to talk about this sort of thing in public here, but I know you know about what happened last week. I bet everyone knows. I can’t live with myself anymore.”

Jerome chucked, “You shared a dance with my wife. Many men have done that. It hardly makes you a criminal.”

Olivia twitched at that word criminal. If only Jerome knew how criminal she had become in the past few weeks. Nevertheless, she did feel some slight relief that the public apparently had no knowledge of her night with Esme. Perhaps it was best to keep it that way. “I’m in love with her,” Olivia said bluntly, “And that’s not right.”

Jerome shook his head. “Maybe not, but you wouldn’t be the first.”

“How does that justify it?” Olivia demanded, “When I came to see you a month back and told you that Mineral Springs was making me miserable, you said to find someone to love. The horrible truth is that I already had. I love Esme as I’ve never loved anyone, and it is not fair. I can’t be your student, and also love her. I’ve done all these…things since I moved here. Inexcusable things. I don’t want to be the person I’ve become.”

At last, Jerome was quiet. When he spoke again, his voice was even and measured. Olivia inwardly cursed him for his placid nature. “Oliver, if anything, your reaction tonight suggests that your conscience rules you in a way that few in Mineral Springs can claim. You will make the right choices from here on out, I feel certain of it. This place does get into people’s heads, can turn even the best men against themselves. But it seems to me that you are finding a way to combat that and that is ultimately what matters. Your poetry shows enormous potential, Oliver. Forget Esme, if you can. Forget my advice to look to women for comfort. I believe you’re too much like me to find much comfort there after all. So, look to yourself, to your contempt for Mineral Springs, and write from that place. Can you do that?”

Olivia gasped, as though she had been underwater. “Yes,” she said, breathlessly, “Yes, I think I can.”

Jerome’s warm smile returned, “Glad to hear it. I know the fall semester won’t begin for a few weeks yet, but why don’t you meet with me in a few days and we’ll discuss directions for your manuscript.”

Relief poured over Olivia, and tears of gratitude filled her eyes. “I’ll drink to that!” she said. 

xxx  
Over the course of the last few weeks of summer, Olivia attempted to throw herself into her work. The task proved difficult, though, as she found that Esme was at the heart of all of her writing. She could not dismiss the night she had spent in Esme’s company from her mind. During the daylight hours, she often succeeded in convincing herself to focus on what Esme had said to her: “I don’t love you, Darling.” The words rankled, and spurred her on, anger coloring the material she produced. At night, however, when tucked away warm in her bed, she imagined the infinite pleasures of that night at the Talbot, and the bitterness in Esme’s clear voice when she described her time at the asylum. She wondered if perhaps Esme regretted revealing such a detail of her life, and had closed her heart to Olivia on account of it. If only she knew that nothing she could ever say would make Olivia stop loving her!

But of course, indulging such thoughts was problematic in its own way, seeing as she felt now more than ever that she wanted to maintain a healthy relationship with Jerome. She thought of him, of his faith in her, and it was almost enough to shame her into thinking of something other than Esme. Almost. 

xxx

The week before the semester was to begin, Olivia found herself at Jerome’s grand home by Lake Davidson. Jerome had assured her that Esme would be out until later that evening, so they would have a quiet environment in which to discuss the manuscript she had been developing in the last month. Olivia was relived; it would be hard enough to see the home that Esme had so carefully designed without laying eyes on the woman herself. With a kind of tentative excitement, she rapped on the door three times. 

Promptly, Jerome arrived, ushering her into his sitting room. She tried not to look at Esme’s paintings, but her eyes were inevitably drawn to them anyway. They were mostly landscapes or poor efforts at still lifes, and yet there was something familiar about the way that the hills in the paintings curved. With a jolt, Olivia recognized that the paintings reminded her of the artwork in Georgina’s home, a poor imitation of it, but similar nevertheless. 

Jerome, who had been leading Olivia toward the parlor table, interrupted her thoughts. “Are you all right, Oliver? You’re looking a bit pale.”

“I’m fine!” Olivia coughed, “Just had something stuck in my throat.”

Jerome nodded, “Very well then. I’ll get you some water, and we can talk about this strong work of yours.”

In spite of everything, Olivia smiled at Jerome’s earnest kindness. The afternoon was largely a productive one that left Olivia feeling rejuvenated. She and Jerome poured over her work, which he found to be far more compelling than what she had shared with him a couple of months prior. So focused were the pair that they failed to hear the turn of the skeleton key that heralded Esme’s early arrival home. 

When she entered the parlor, Esme’s mouth gaped open twice, like a fish gasping for air, and Olivia knew that she was surprised to see her. “Jerome,” she said finally, “I didn’t know that you had a guest today.”

A guest. The phrase sounded cold, as though Olivia and Esme had never met one another. Jerome sensed the tension, and tried to provide a salve. “Esme, you know Oliver. He’s one of my students, not a guest. We simply thought it would be nice to discuss his manuscript here today.”

Esme shrugged, as though this news were as dull as watching paint dry. “Well, don’t take forever. I’m going for a swim, and then I’d like to go out.”

Jerome nodded, “Of course, dear. Enjoy yourself. We’ll just be a few minutes more.” 

Esme turned on her heel, and walked upstairs, leaving Jerome and Olivia alone once again. Olivia placed her hands under the table to hide that they were shaking. The last thing she wanted was for Jerome to see how truly affected she was. Despite her efforts, she felt his sympathetic gaze on her and, in that moment, she hated him for it. “Don’t look at me like that,” she said before she could stop herself. 

“Like what?” Jerome asked, his confusion apparently genuine. 

“Like you feel sorry for me. I don’t deserve your pity. I betrayed you, Jerome. I’m your student, meant to be loyal and respectful to you, and I betrayed you. Don’t think it doesn’t keep me up at night.”

“I won’t—I can’t—blame you for loving Esme. What manner of hypocrite would I be if I did?” Jerome’s laugh possessed a caustic element, “Sometimes, I think any creative man would love her---any creative person. She exists to inspire; she was born for it.”

Olivia remembered suddenly what Esme had said about Jerome never truly seeing her. “Is that all she is though?” Olivia asked. 

Jerome shook his head sharply, “Of course not. I just mean that a poet is always drawn to the most inspiring people, and it would be difficult to be more inspiring than Esme. She’s like magic in an ordinary world.”

“Quite.” Olivia agreed, unable to deny the truth of her mentor’s assessment. “But maybe not all magic is good.”

Jerome didn’t reply. His eyes were briefly drawn to the window on the south end of his parlor. The setting sun made the lake gleam an enchantingly bright copper. “Let’s finish this up, Oliver. Its getting late. I don’t want to take your whole evening.”

Olivia had no plans for the evening, but she responded appropriately. “Of course not” she said. 

xxx

Within the hour, Olivia was standing on the steps of Jerome’s manor, waiting to call a taxi. She found herself fighting the overpowering urge to collapse under the weight of a heavy, unexplainable grief. In her mind’s eye, she recalled Esme entering the house, her dismay at discovering Olivia there. The thought twisted her stomach, and her throat became chokingly tight. Calling a cab felt impossible, not when she knew where Esme was, and could confront her. She was aware, based on stories Jerome had told at various parties, that Esme had penchant for swimming in the shallows of the lake near her property. If Olivia were lucky, she might just encounter her, have a chance to speak with her. She knew such thoughts were dangerous, but she also felt that the danger was, on some level, all she had now. 

The Squalor manor was situated on the top of a hill which dipped down into the lake. The backyard was a unkept forest, full of trees and, at this time of year, beautiful wildflowers. As Olivia descended the hill cautiously, she felt as though she were entering another world. 

In the center of that world was its goddess. Esme was reclining at the edge of the lake. Much of her body was submerged beneath the waters, and Olivia felt relieved. It suddenly occurred to her that surprising Esme in this vulnerable state was not likely to improve things between the two of them. She had made it this far, however, and she didn’t want to turn away. “Esme,” she called, “I want to talk!”

As Olivia had expected, Esme jumped, but she didn’t shriek. It was as though some part of her had expected Olivia to come. “Oliver,” she said curtly, “What do you want?”

“I want to talk,” she repeated, though she sounded far less confident than she had initially felt. 

Esme seemed to sense her weakness, “About what?” she sneered, “How you left our room because I told you the truth?”

As Olivia responded, she could hear how small her voice was, and she hated herself for it. “You said I saw you. Did you mean it at all?”

“I wanted to think that you did, that someone like you could see me. But I felt that night, when we were making love and then when I told you about my teen years in that abominable place, that you love me like Jerome does. And that means you don’t truly love me at all.” 

Olivia was indignant, and with a burst of anger, her confidence resurfaced. “How dare you say that about Jerome? I don’t care what you say about me, but don’t besmirch the man who loves you best.”

Esme cackled, and Olivia felt the sound make its way under her skin. “He doesn’t know me!” she exclaimed, “No man like him or you ever could.”

Olivia shook her head in dismay, “I so badly want to know you, Esme. I don’t know what you mean.”

“And you never will. You couldn’t possibly know.” Esme replied crisply. 

“Give me a chance,” Olivia pleaded, “Tell me what you mean when you say Jerome and I could never understand you. No one could love you better than Jerome does, but, if I may be so bold, I think I could have loved you as well had I found you first. My greatest and most selfish regret is that I didn’t.”

Esme sighed, as though Olivia were being intentionally difficult or, worse yet, slow. “Jerome wasn’t the first to find me either. Only two lovers I’ve ever known have seen me, and neither of them would have married me. No one who sees me would have made that mistake.”

Olivia gritted her teeth in despair. “What you’re saying isn’t making any sense. Esme, is this about the asylum? It isn’t your fault you were there. I would never think any less of you. You aren’t mad! Well, except in the right ways. Please know I’d never hold something like against you. I love you!” Olivia heard the desperation in her own voice, “I respect your husband too much to continue what we started, but I’ll love you forever.”

“You don’t love me. You can’t see me. I thought you were different, but you’re just like Jerome.” 

Esme’s tone was cold and detached, bringing Olivia’s desperation soaring to new heights. “I don’t know what that means. Esme, please, if we talk, I think I will understand.” 

“You don’t want to talk. You just said you respect my husband too much to touch me again. What is there left to talk about? Take your chivalry elsewhere.”

Olivia’s sadness morphed into despair fueled fury. “So the only two lovers who saw you weren’t chivalrous, I take it? One of them is Olaf then. That checks out, since everyone knows he treated you like shit.” Olivia spat the last word as though it carried a bad taste with it. “And the other is a mystery, but not a well concealed one. It was Georgina, wasn’t it?”

At this, Esme’s eyes widened broadly, and Olivia knew she had guessed correctly. “I wouldn’t say anything to that effect again,” Esme growled, “Unless, of course, you want to regret it for the rest of your life.” 

It was Olivia’s turn to laugh with mirth, “You can’t make me feel more regret than I already do.”

Esme’s tone was devilishly mischievous as she said, “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

Blood pounded in Olivia’s ears. “What are you talking about?” she snapped defensively, “You sound crazy.”

“And here you were just saying I wasn’t. What a shame.” Esme lowered her voice, “Get out of here, Oliver, or I’ll make you go.”

Throat burning, blood raging in her cheeks, Olivia realized that this conversation was a loss. More grieved than ever, she found herself, for the second time, fleeing Esme Squalor’s company without daring to look back. 

xxx  
In early September, when the leaves were starting to brown and the air had grown thinner, Olaf McReggens announced that his new bride, Violet Baudelaire, was with child. On the afternoon of the announcement, Olivia was organizing Olaf’s books in the back of Gertrude’s. The semester had just begun at the university, and it was proving difficult to balance her studies alongside the work she did for Olaf, even if it was minimal. Nevertheless, she was admittedly grateful that Olaf had offered her protection following the episode at the bathhouse. So, she made the best of the situation, pleased that Olaf only asked her to keep books and tidy up, rather than engaging in more violent activities. She learned of Violet’s pregnancy in the same manner in which she had learned most things related to Olaf’s gang: Jacquelyn Scieszka. 

Jacquelyn breezed into the Gertrude’s backroom, like a spy on a casual mission—if such a thing were possible. Upon seeing Olivia, she asked, “You’ve heard, haven’t you?” 

Affected boredom colored Jacquelyn’s words, and Olivia looked up slowly, not in the mood for games. “Heard about what?”

“Olaf’s going to be a father, of course! Everyone’s planning for another celebration—here at Gertrude’s this time. Say you’ll come and be a sport. Maybe you’ll even dance with me this time instead of that wretched Esme.” Jacquelyn’s words were harsh, but the tone was playful. Olivia couldn’t even fault her description of Esme. It felt true enough. 

“I’ll consider a dance with you,” Olivia said, “But only if you tell me why Olaf’s sperm is worth such a celebration. His lady is young. It was bound to happen sooner rather than later.”

Jacquelyn snorted. “I’ve never heard you be so blunt, my dear! You’re right that it isn’t worth celebrating, but do we need a reason to celebrate in this city? You can make a party of anything.”

Olivia shrugged. “Except the parties aren’t worth much.”

“You’re starting to sound like that bitter old mentor of yours. Don’t let Jerome’s lessons go to your head! You’re not like him, Oliver; you belong in Mineral Springs.”

The confidence with which Jacquelyn said these words caught Olivia off guard. Did she truly seem so in her element here? She knew she had never been less comfortable in all of her life. Every aspect of it felt disguised at this point, pretend. Steadying herself, she replied, “I don’t belong anywhere.”

Jacquelyn sighed, “Suit yourself. If you want my advice, forget Esme. Forget Jerome when he’s not around! Look at what else the city has to offer. Besides, how are you going to differentiate yourself from him if all you do is write about his wife?”

“You don’t know anything about my writing,” Olivia said defensively. 

“I know what you think about. I watch people. It’s the one thing I’m good at. That and giving a man the fuck of his life without trying. You think about her so much, it would be a wonder if all of your poetry wasn’t about her. I get it; she’s gorgeous, she’s got that certain something that pulls you in right away, a quality so uniquely hers that no one else can even describe it. But then, you get to know the woman, as I have here at Gertrude’s, and all of that fades away. Her husband’s a remarkable man, you know. For him, her shine never wore off, but it has for everyone else.” Jacquelyn spoke quickly, as though these were words she had been longing to say, but had never been given the permission. 

“You’re just bitter, jealous,” Olivia said flatly, “You could never understand.”

Jacquelyn groaned in disbelief. “Jealous? Of a woman ten years older than I am? Esme’s time as Mineral Springs’ darling is fading! Can’t you see that her power never had anything to do with her? The woman Olaf loves will always be queen of this city, no matter who she is. And right now, she’s two months pregnant with his baby and lovelier than Esme ever thought of being.”

Olivia started to get up, “I need a smoke, I can’t listen to this.”

“You can’t listen because you know its true. You’re just like Jerome, aren’t you? You’ve gone and turned out like him. You think she’s the perfect woman, but she isn’t. Another woman can see that. Maybe some men can’t.” Jacquelyn rolled her eyes, “Go out and have your smoke, I don’t mind. You might congratulate the boss if you happen to see him. Like it or not, he’s moved on and the city will move on with him.”

Olivia loudly pushed her chair into the desk where she had been sitting, and stormed out of the room. If the sudden movement surprised Jacquelyn, she didn’t react. Olivia strode into the street, and it wasn’t until she stopped and shakily pulled out a cigarette that she realized she didn’t know quite what she was angry about. Jacquelyn’s words echoed in her mind; they so recalled Esme’s scornful comments that they left Olivia feeling irate in the midst of her distress. She would attend the party at Gertrude’s, not to catch Esme’s eye this time, but to make her sorry that she had ever put Olivia in such an emotionally compromising position. 

xxx

On the night of the party, Olivia dressed her best and walked to Gertrude’s with Jacquelyn’s words still resounding in her head: that Esme’s star was fading, that Jerome failed to understand her. Tonight, Olivia felt strangely fortified by what she had heard, as though those words gave her the strength to enter this event. 

Once inside the club, she found that it was decorated with gaudy streamers and brightly colored balloons that seemed decidedly out of place in the dingy darkness of Gertrude’s parlor. The guests were dressed to the nines, but, for the first time, Olivia found them as overdressed as their unpleasant surroundings. Most of the more famous individuals in Mineral Springs had arrived, and Olivia had the sense of watching a play—a show—rather than reality. Tonight, the show seemed predictable and overwrought rather than charming. 

“You decided to come after all, then? I was wondering if you would.” Olivia looked up to see Jacquelyn coming over to her side. To her amazement, she saw that the other woman was wearing a fetching pair of pants rather than a skirt. Olivia couldn’t help but think it rather suited her. 

“Yeah, you knew I’d come.” Olivia said, taking a breath before going on. “Listen, about the stuff you were saying the other day…you were right. About almost all of it. I wasn’t ready to listen. Part of me is still not ready! But I know you’re right. Can you forgive me?”

Jacquelyn laughed, “Certainly, Dear. Why, I forgave you immediately! I knew you’d come to your senses.”

Olivia smiled, her first genuine smile in what felt an eternity. “Are you still interested in that dance?” 

“You’d dance with me while I’m wearing these trousers?” Jacquelyn asked, a note of delighted incredulity coloring her tone. 

“Yes, of course!” Olivia said, “I’d dance with you if you were wearing a lampshade. Anyone would.”

“Don’t let Esme hear you say that.” Jacquelyn giggled. 

“Oh, I don’t know how much I care about that tonight.” Olivia said softly. “When the music starts, we’ll dance.”

The music did start, a band more magnificent even than the one that had played at the wedding announced itself triumphantly as Olaf and his pregnant wife entered the room. As he reached the parlor, Olaf cried, “Dance, my friends! We’ll have our toasts later! Dance and make merry.”

Taking this as their cue, the guests left their tables and flooded the dance floor. Olivia took Jacquelyn’s hand. It was much smaller than Esme’s, and the contrast strangely offered her some comfort. As she and Jacquelyn reached the center of the room, she heard Jacquelyn whisper, “Which one of us will lead?”

“Perhaps you could try. You’ve got the outfit for the job after all. It might be nice to be led by a woman.” Olivia gave Jacquelyn a wink.

Jacquelyn squeezed her hand in response, and then, alight with nerves, she asked, “Won’t the others find it queer?”

“The hell with what they think!” Olivia cried, and she knew, in that moment, that she meant it. 

Spurred on by Olivia’s confidence, Jacquelyn led her fellow pants-wearing partner in a spectacular foxtrot. Olivia heard the crowd whisper, but she didn’t mind. She felt free, as if twirling around the room with Jacquelyn had given her new life. 

That sense of new life died with the music, however; Esme was making her way to the front of the room, presumably to make a speech alongside several of Olaf’s closest friends. Aware that she was in Esme’s line of vision, Olivia kissed Jacquelyn, catching her off guard. Jacquelyn soon responded in kind, though, and in seconds, the couple had captured the attention of the entire room. Some of the crowd cheered in approval, others gasped at the sight of two figures in pants locked in such an embrace. Olivia felt triumphant. Not even Esme could find her unremarkable tonight. 

Olaf finally felt the need to add his voice to the throng. “One can hardly blame the lad for laying one on Jacquelyn! She’s a beauty no matter what ridiculous attire she wears.”

The crowd now cheered unanimously, and Olivia found herself yet again in Olaf’s debt. She felt Jacquelyn lean on her arm as the guests quieted down and turned their attention to the toasts that Olaf’s friends were soon to make. 

Esme, perhaps unsurprisingly, went first, striding forward as though she were a queen. Olivia felt her bones twitch in spite of herself. In a clear voice that belied all displeasure, Esme said, “I’m pleased beyond words to have the opportunity to congratulate my dear friend, Olaf, not only on his recent marriage, but on the fabulous news we have gathered here to celebrate today. As many of you may know, my husband, Jerome, is impotent. A child has long been an impossible dream of mine, so any child, particularly a child of someone as darling to me as Olaf, is a blessing.”

Olivia turned to Jacquelyn, incapable of disguising her shock. “Is it true about Jerome?”

Jacquelyn nodded sagely, and rapidly whispered a response, “It’s pretty well known in the community that he can’t have kids. Olaf wouldn’t knock Esme up either. Always wore a raincoat with her because, whether he’ll admit it or not, the boss has a modicum of respect for Jerome as an upstanding figure in town. He knew if Esme got pregnant, everyone would know it wasn’t Jerome’s, and he didn’t want that for him.”

Olivia had to admit that what Jacquelyn said made sense. She turned her attention back to Esme’s speech just in time to hear her own name spoken aloud. “My dream will be a reality, however,” Esme was saying grandly, prowling to the center of the room. “Oliver Caliban has helped me see to that. Just as Olaf and his new bride conceived a child on their wedding night, Oliver, in making love to me, allowed me the same gift.” She raised her glass triumphantly. “Oliver, we would never have worked out, but thank you, Darling. You’ve changed my life forever.” Her words were saturated in a sickly, sweet tone, but her eyes danced wickedly. Olivia’s heart plummeted. This, certainly, must have been what Esme meant when she had said she could destroy Olivia’s life. Olaf was looking at Olivia, his disposition suddenly one of rage. Though he had married another, Olaf evidently wanted to keep the rights to fucking Esme to himself. Terror paralyzed Olivia, and she found herself screaming, “It couldn’t be me! That’s not possible!” but her desperate calls were lost as Olaf’s gang members descended upon her, beating her with such ferocity that, within a few minutes, she lost consciousness, fading away to the sound of Jacquelyn’s sobs.


	7. The Naughty Notes

Olaf McReggens looked on as his men attacked Oliver Caliban. So transfixed was he that he was taken by surprise when he heard a voice cry out, “Stop this! Stop it at once!” To his astonishment, his bride, Violet, usually a quiet, obedient girl, was shouting so loudly that the whole room could hear her. As if through magic, the men on the dance floor unhanded Oliver, who slumped to the floor like a dead fish. Olaf could tell that Jacquelyn wanted to rush to his aid, but was frightened of suffering punishment for doing so. 

Violet seemed suddenly self-conscious at the realization that everyone in the room was staring at her, but she pressed on, apparently determined to make her views known. Olaf had never seen his wife like this, and, for once, was at a loss for words himself. 

“You must stop,” Violet continued, “Olaf, what are you thinking, encouraging your friends to harm this man? What kind of example do you think that sets for the town? What would my father, our mayor, think if he knew you were condoning this?” she paused, breathless. After a moment, she continued in a quieter voice, “What do you think I think about it? You’re allowing them to brutalize a man over his involvement with a woman everyone knows is your previous lover. I will not suffer shame in front of a crowd this way, and I will certainly not suffer useless violence.”

Olaf felt the strangest combination of rage and pride fill his heart, and he had to fight the urge to strike his wife, to whom he had never before laid a hand. As he looked at Violet, her chest heaving, her eyes bright with passion, her lips slightly parted, the sense of pride won out. Instead of addressing Violet directly, he turned to the assembled party. “Well, you heard my wife. She doesn’t want any violence here tonight. Enough already.” His men parted, mumbled apologies gracing their lips as they slithered off to the corners of the room. Once they had gone, he turned to Violet, “I want no one but you,” he said, heedless of who could hear him. “You know that.”

Violet rolled her eyes, “You can save that for later, Olaf. I’m just glad you’ve come to your senses.”

Impulsively, Olaf raised a glass toward Violet, “To my brilliant bride!” he cried, “And the soon-to-be mother of my child! You’ve seen tonight that promotes my better impulses.” There was much applause and cheering. As one man in the crowd proclaimed Violet “the most beautiful woman in Mineral Springs,” people glanced around the room for Esme, seeking her reaction. In doing so, they utterly abandoned the badly beaten man on the floor, dripping with blood. In this moment of privacy, Olaf noted that Jacquelyn came to Oliver’s side, and was helping him to his feet. The boy was, apparently, regaining consciousness. Olaf knew what manner of punishment he would bestow upon Oliver. His murder of Georgina Orwell simply could not be forgotten and that, in Olaf’s mind, was enough to defend Oliver against the worst sort of punishments. He cleared his throat, “Jacquelyn, you take the boy to the hospital. See that he’s well taken care of. When he wakes, tell him he’s no longer welcome with the gang. He’s dismissed. We’ll leave him unmolested, but he’s lost access to this life.”

Jacquelyn’s expression was one of disgust, but her voice was calm when she replied, “Of course, boss,” and, allowing Oliver to lean on her, she led him out onto the street. 

xxx

The air was cool, but thick with humidity as Jacquelyn and Olivia stepped out onto Bathhouse Lane. The unusual weather helped Olivia to reach a fully awakened state, and she leaned against Jacquelyn, dismayed at the excruciating pain that was pouring over her body, making its way into every crevice, “My god!” she cried, “oh god,”

“Shh,” Jacquelyn whispered soothingly, “I’m going to call a cab and we’ll get you to the hospital. I’ll be with you every step of the way. Don’t worry.”

Although in midst of pain, Olivia realized that she had never heard Jacquelyn speak so sweetly to anyone, “No,” she breathed, “not the hospital. I’ll…I’ll be okay. Just take me home.”

“Oliver, don’t be ridiculous! You’re still bleeding a bit and you’re badly bruised. Let me take you to a nurse.”

Olivia shook her head as sharply as she could manage, “I’ll be fine. It is mostly bruising. I need to sleep it off.” There was a desperation in her voice that she didn’t quite mange to conceal. A trip to the hospital simply wasn’t an option, no matter how it might have helped. She would go home, take a hot shower, try to awaken herself. That was the only way forward. 

Jacquelyn’s spoke in a tone of desperation that matched Olivia’s own, “I’m concerned for you. Don’t be so stubborn. Let me take care of you.”

Olivia paused for a moment. “If you want to look after me, come and stay the night at my place. I think a warm shower will help with the bruising. You can wait while I’m doing that. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen.” Olivia hesitated, waiting for her breath to return, “I’ve got a sofa that’s pretty comfortable. You could spend the night.”

Jacquelyn smiled warmly, “If that’s what makes you most comfortable, we’ll do it.” Olivia could tell that Jacquelyn remained perplexed about her resistance to a hospital visit, but she was no longer asking questions. Olivia became increasingly happy of her company, as the flight of stairs leading to her apartment was exceptionally difficult to traverse. As she entered the apartment, she showed Jacquelyn to the sofa and hobbled into her bathroom. 

xxx

A quarter of an hour later, Olivia re-entered the sitting room, still struggling to walk. Jacquelyn, who was perched on the sofa reading a magazine, leapt up to help Olivia to her bedchamber. As Olivia settled under the covers, she muttered, “I was surprised tonight.”

Jacquelyn settled into a chair across from the bedroom. “About what in particular, dear?”  
“About Violet Baudelaire. I heard her as I was starting to regain consciousness. She stopped the onslaught. Why would she do that?”

Jacquelyn shrugged. “Who’s to say? I have heard that she isn’t a monster; in fact, there are rumors that she is the most compassionate woman Olaf has been with, that her compassion is what made him marry her.”

“I thought the marriage was arranged.”

“Well it was, but Olaf and Violet had met a few times when he dined with Mayor Bertrand. There was something in Violet’s spirit he always admired. Maybe he thinks she’ll make him a better man.” Jacquelyn snorted, as though the notion were funny somehow. “You can never tell with him. I’m surprised you remember anything about Violet’s outburst really. You need your rest.”

Olivia conceded that Jacquelyn was right. She sensed that Jacquelyn would spend more time watching over her than sleeping that evening, and for that she felt a thick gratitude fill her heart. “Thank you,” she said softly. 

Jacquelyn took Olivia’s hand. “Of course,” she said. Despite—or perhaps due to-- the pain of the bruises, Olivia fell more easily into sleep than she had in recent days. 

xxx

The next morning, Olivia woke early, and watched as light crept slowly in through her blinds. She glanced across from her and saw Jacquelyn curled into a ball in the old chair near her bed. In spite of herself, Olivia smiled; the manner in which Jacquelyn was sleeping made her seem almost childlike. She wondered how long she had been sleeping. It seemed cruel to wake her. Olivia lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The pain seeped back into her muscles as she tried to move, and she felt somewhat off balance, but in a way that made her feel exhilarated as much as uncomfortable. She wondered if the city was finally turning her to madness. 

As the evening’s events came flooding back to her, she shuddered as she recalled Esme’s triumphant expression. It was so difficult for Olivia to reconcile her cruelty with the love she had shown her two months prior at Olaf’s wedding. “Just don’t push me away,” Esme had said then. How ironic her own words had become. It wasn’t long before Olivia found herself drowning in her thoughts of Esme, and she was ashamed of the power the other woman still held over her. She slowly pulled herself off the bed and, with some effort, slipped into her closet to dress. The bruises were miserable, but she knew they would heal. In the meantime, she was pleased that they were there; they could stand as physical reminders of Esme’s betrayal. 

As she dressed, she slipped on a pair of loose trousers that reminded her of Georgina’s pantsuits. She thought of Georgina intensely. Olivia knew Esme had loved her; she had seen it in her eyes at the lake. The thought made her irrationally furious. Georgina had not even needed a disguise to win Esme’s favor. And Esme had been capable of the supposedly unnatural love that Olivia herself felt for other women, for Esme in particular. That was surely why she had been so determined to erase the evidence of her relationship with Georgina. She had asked Olivia to fetch Georgina’s tokens, the pieces that remained of her relationship with Esme, so that no one would ever know Esme had consented to such things. Esme had thought Olivia foolish enough to believe that none of it could be consensual, that Esme Squalor was ultimately above perversity, at least of that kind. Olivia fumed, feeling suddenly furious. As she thought of Georgina and Esme together, her mind was drawn to Georgina’s provocative art work, and, at once, she reached an inescapable conclusion: she had to return to Georgina’s home. 

As she finished dressing, she heard Jacquelyn stir in the bedroom. “I have somewhere I want to go today!” she cried abruptly. 

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” Jacquelyn asked, stifling a yawn. 

“I’m fine, Jacquelyn. I slept well. I’m going back to Georgina’s home.” As she spoke, Olivia entered the bedroom and saw that Jacquelyn looked reasonably shocked. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. You got dismissed from the gang, Oliver. Did you hear that last night? I think you shouldn’t press your luck by hanging around Georgina’s. It is technically Olaf’s territory now.”

“I don’t care. There is something I need to see there, and I don’t think I can rest again until I do.”

Jacquelyn smirked, “That sounds intriguing, but I still don’t approve of this idea. That’s why I’ll have to come with you to keep an eye on you. I wouldn’t want you to fall over in your current state after all.”

Olivia returned Jacquelyn’s grin with one of her own. “I could never object to that,” she said, already feeling lighter at the prospect of having an ally for her return to that dreadful place. With Jacquelyn to support her, Olivia inched her way down the alleyways that led to Georgina’s now decrepit cottage. It was a sad sight. Where once there had been a well-tended garden, there was now an overgrown brush, and Olivia and Jacquelyn had to push long, spindly branches aside to reach the house. Climbing through the windows that they themselves had broken not long ago, they entered the silent house. 

“Now what?” Jacquelyn asked, “You gonna tell me why we’re here?”

Olivia shook her head, “Not tell you. I want to show you.” With that, she turned to the wall in the kitchen, which was decorated with Georgina’s art, and began to systematically remove each painting, turning them over as she did so. When she got to the third painting, one of a landscape that looked rather like a woman’s hips, Olivia whistled triumphantly, and pulled a scrap of paper from the back of the canvas. Scribbled on it was a note. Georgie, take my breath again! <3 The handwriting was clearly Esme’s. Georgina had certainly been able to forge Esme’s scrawl well, but that was likely due to the numerous notes and letters she had received from her. For, as Olivia pulled the paintings off the wall, more and more notes appeared, each more salacious than the last. With each note, Olivia’s anger grew. Esme had thought Olivia a foolish man! That she would believe that these notes had been crafted by Georgina somehow, that they were some false characterization of Esme’s desires. But Olivia was, of course, no man; she was woman of Georgina’s persuasion: she was, as Georgina had pointed out not long ago, a woman who longed for the company of her own sex. As such, she was incapable of ignoring the earnest nature of Esme’s notes. 

“How?” Jacquelyn sputtered, “How on earth did you know that these would be here?”

Olivia shrugged, “I just did,” she said simply. Her whole life had been spent hiding evidence such as these notes from public view. Why would Georgina have been any different? The paintings were a brilliant place to conceal the notes—they were hidden in plain sight. 

When she turned to look at Jacquelyn, she saw confusion in the other woman’s eyes. She realized that some explanation was in order. “Georgina was so eager to show these off when I first came to take lessons. I could see instantly their perversity. Lately, I’ve come to think that Esme did have a consensual relationship with her after all—that the materials she wanted me to bring to her when all of this began were evidence of that relationship.”

Jacquelyn shook her head as though she still didn’t understand. “I know Esme started out working for Georgina before she met Jerome. Everyone knows that part of the story. Esme always made it sound so grim though—like Georgina made her act out her fantasies to stay on the payroll.” Jacquelyn snorted, “She’s so dramatic, but I never imagined someone like Esme could be interested in women. Just doesn’t seem natural. But then, maybe she isn’t.”

“Isn’t what?” Olivia asked. 

“Natural.” 

This simple response instantly winded Olivia, and she took a moment to reply. When she did, she attempted levity, “I think we knew that much,” she said, but her voice, as she spoke, was flat. A heavy silence descended. Olivia began pocketing the notes Esme had given Georgina. 

“Why do you wanna keep them?” Jacquelyn asked. “Why are you interested in them?”

Olivia sighed, “Jacquelyn, she has just accused me of knocking her up in front of the whole town. I feel like I might need a way to protect myself in the near future.”

“Well didn’t you knock her up? You have to admit that that’s at least possible.”

Olivia didn’t answer. “I just think I need to take these,” she said. 

Jacquelyn rolled her eyes. “Suit yourself. You’re right that Esme seems to have it out for you. I just don’t know what good this will do.” 

“Probably none, but it is going to make me feel better,” Olivia said, storing the notes in the pocket of her jacket. “Now come on, let’s get out of here.”

“Thank god,” Jacquelyn drawled, “That’s enough weirdness for one morning. Can we get lunch?” 

“You don’t mind going out with me covered in bruises?” Olivia asked. 

“Not if you don’t mind going to lunch with a girl like me.”

“You know I don’t.” 

Jacquelyn’s expression was one of unrestrained joy. “Well then, off we go.” With that, Jacquelyn took Olivia’s hand and led her over the threshold of Georgina’s home for the last time.  
All things considered, the pair succeeded in sharing a fairly normal afternoon. Lunch was at an overpriced but delightful French café, and, afterward, they strolled through Bathhouse Lane, gazing at shops, and eating gelato. They had just left a popular bath shop---in which Jacquelyn had indulged herself, buying a series of divinely scent soaps—when they were suddenly approached by a policeman. 

“Stop right there!” a deep voice called, “Oliver Caliban, stop!”

Olivia froze. The man had said her name, she could have no doubt he had been searching for her. She felt her skin grow feverish. Perhaps, now that Olaf had ousted her, she would finally have to pay for what had happened at the Bathhouse. On some level, she had been preparing for this for months. She took a deep breath, “Yes, officer?” Her voice sounded unacceptably high pitched in her ears, but she was helpless to change it. 

“You’re under arrest.” The policeman announced, pulling out a pair of handcuffs and placing them on Olivia’s wrists. 

Olivia looked at Jacquelyn, whose eyes were filled with tears. Their perfect afternoon had been spoiled in the most startling way. Standing there with her parcel from the bath shop and her eyes glistening, Jacquelyn looked positively vulnerable. Olivia thought she had never been more beautiful. She turned to Jacquelyn and whispered, “I’m sorry,” 

Jacquelyn sniffed, and, swallowing her tears, she demanded, “What is he being arrested for? Where are you taking him?”

“Oliver Caliban is under arrest for the rape of Esme Squalor. She alleges that you had relations with her, and that those relations were not consensual. That’s rape, so you’re under arrest.” 

The policeman spoke as though Olivia were slow. In response, she exploded, “I did no such thing! Just last night, she said she felt grateful to me. Said she was glad to be having a child. Would she have said that if I had raped her?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care. All I know is you’re coming to the station right now.”

Olivia glanced anxiously back at Jacquelyn; her sadness had melted into anger, and Olivia was relieved to see her back in form. “I won’t let Esme get away with this, Oliver!” Jacquelyn exclaimed, “She’ll pay!”

Olivia knew she couldn’t reply, but she felt some comfort at Jacquelyn’s words. “Go on,” she said finally, “I’ll be all right.” However, as she spoke those words and followed the policeman to the station, she had a distressing suspicion that they were anything but the truth. 

xxx

When she arrived at the police station, she was taken into a dimly lit room where she sat in a creaky, uncomfortable chair. A middle-aged policeman entered. He told Olivia he was the sheriff, but it didn’t frighten her. She didn’t see how things could get worse. Olivia wasn’t even surprised by this turn of events. Of course, Esme would wear one face at Olaf’s party and another at the station. She always did what served her best. She had known it would piss Olaf off if he believed that Olivia and Esme’s coupling had been consensual, where, by contrast, she knew that a tale of rape would best appall her husband. Thus, at Gertrude’s, she had announced her pregnancy triumphantly and, as soon as that was done, she had come to authorities with the aim of horrifying Jerome. All with the added bonus of framing Olivia. 

Olivia’s mind was so deeply entrenched in such thoughts that she failed to take note of many of the sheriff’s questions, and he was constantly repeating himself and becoming irritated. At the end of the interrogation, Olivia finally cut him off mid-sentence, not even paying attention to the content of his latest tedious question: “Did you know that Esme Squalor is a pervert?” she asked, trying to keep her voice level. 

Predictably, the sheriff’s response was an aggressive one. “How dare you say such a ridiculous thing when she has accused you? Answer my question.”

Olivia shrugged, “I don’t remember it. What I do remember is that Esme Squalor was in love with Georgina Orwell. Look!” With a wild intensity, she pulled the notes she had found that morning from her pocket, suddenly overwhelmingly grateful that what she had expected about Esme had been true. 

In spite of his proclaimed professionalism, the sheriff gave the notes a glance over. A few tense moments passed, after which he said, “These are perverse all right, but I don’t think they prove a damn thing. After all, they’re in your possession, and you have every reason in the world to write incriminating things about her.”

Olivia was not intimidated. “Ask Jacquelyn. My friend who works at Gertrude’s. Go to her and ask her where the rest of the notes like these are. You’ll find them in Georgina Orwell’s rotten house.”

The sheriff looked recognizably awkward. “I’m afraid I can’t go to the Orwell house.”

Olivia sighed condescendingly, “Yes, because Olaf technically owns the property. Until this week, I worked for him. He won’t give a shit. He doesn’t even give a shit about Esme anymore. Besides, you can’t enjoy doing Olaf’s bidding; you’re law enforcement for heaven’s sake! Just this once, pretend you enforce the law in this town like you’re meant to.”

The sheriff snarled, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I do.” Olivia protested, “I didn’t rape Esme, but she did have consensual sex with another woman, which I think we all know is a crime. If you weren’t so terrified of Olaf McReggens, you could see for yourself.” 

The sheriff called in a deputy and, without speaking to Olivia, told the young man to “take Oliver away, please.” The deputy lead Olivia to a small cell. Olivia thought sadly of her lovely apartment where she had been just this morning. Now, she supposed, she would be here for the foreseeable future. At least it was a cell for one. Olivia sat at the back of the cell. She felt incapable of moving, the reality of her situation finally starting to set in. She fought the almost involuntary urge to scream. She thought of Esme, of her supple limbs, her sudden sexy smile, that charming laugh that sounded simultaneously patronizing and warm. She rammed her fist into the wall, grief overriding any physical pain. She was trapped. She could admit that she was a woman, and be potentially absolved of the rape charges, but then her poetry career would be over and, worse still, she would be declared a pervert for being involved sexually with another woman. There seemed, simply, to be no way out. 

xxx

To Olivia’s relief, there was a way out after all. Though he had feigned disgust, it was evident that her words had reached the sheriff after all. That very afternoon, he had gotten in touch with Jacquelyn, as Olivia had suggested, and Jacquelyn had led him to Georgina’s. On searching the place, they found effusive letters from Esme to Georgina, as well as the whip Esme had described months earlier. Olivia learned these things from Jacquelyn, who was there to fetch her after someone paid her bail. When she was released, she was so relieved to see Jacquelyn that she thought she might die. “Oh Jackie!” she cried, rushing toward the other woman and burying her face in the side of her neck. She was laughing hysterically. “How did you ever pay to get me out? What a foolish, wonderful thing to do!”

Jacquelyn held her tightly, but Olivia felt her shake her head against her shoulder. “I’m here to get you, Oliver, but I didn’t pay your bail. Olaf just told me that someone did, and I came.”

Olivia frowned. “I can’t imagine who would be willing to pay it now,” she said, “but that can wait. I want to go home.”

Jacquelyn chuckled, “I can’t fault you for that!” 

The pair spent nearly two hours talking at Olivia’s flat. Finally, Jacquelyn said that she had to get some rest in her own bed, but that Olivia should not hesitate to phone her if something was amiss or if “you just need another voice in your mind.” When she left, Olivia felt warm, and took a bath using one of the soaps Jacquelyn had left as a gift. For once, her mind was eerily calm, and, when she emerged from her bath, she opened the windows of her flat, smoked a cigarette, and wrote, the autumn breeze goading her on. By the early hours of morning, Olivia had finally produced what she truly expected was good work, and, with ease in her heart, she retreated to her bedroom and fell into a heavy doze. 

xxx  
When Olivia woke hours later, it was past noon. As she turned in her sheets, the scent of coffee slipped into her nostrils, which did not initially alarm her. The walls were thin and it was possible that the downstairs shop or a neighbor upstairs had brewed a pot. She dressed slowly, and prepared to go out to a café. As she was getting her jacket and starting to walk down the stairs at the careful pace her bruised body could handle, a voice called out, “Leaving so soon? I thought you’d at least say hello.”

Olivia’s blood congealed. “Esme, how the hell did you get in here?” 

Esme Squalor was perched on her sofa, reading a book of poetry she had left on a small table. Olivia was not surprised that the woman had a penchant for picking locks, but she was nevertheless unable to hide her discomfort at Esme’s unexpected appearance. “What makes you think you can just walk in here? You’re trying to ruin my life, remember?” Her voice cracked, “Esme, why are you doing this? You and I, we had something for a minute, right? Why are you putting all of this on me?”

“You lied to me,” Esme said, taking a sip of the coffee she had apparently made for herself while Olivia had been sleeping, “You made me think you understood me, but I was wrong.”

“You said that before, and I still have no idea what it means. If you’re going to ruin my life and break into my house, I think I’m owed an explanation.” 

Esme smiled predatorily, “Certainly, but I think you’ll find that you do know what I mean after all, if you search your own thoughts a bit.”

Olivia didn’t respond. Esme broke the silence herself, apparently incapable of tolerating it. Olivia enjoyed watching her unease. “It isn’t as though you didn’t try to ruin my life yesterday,” Esme said, “I should have known you had a trick like that up your sleeve. The cops are dropping your case. They think because I was dishonest about my relationship with Georgina that I was probably dishonest about your case too. Georgie was right; men never believe a woman over another man.” 

“You were dishonest. It isn’t as though the cops are wrong in this case. ” Olivia said flatly. Though she worked to conceal any trace of excitement, the relief that flowed through her at the thought that there would be no trial after all was enough to make her feel unsteady on her legs. “Listen Esme, I don’t know what you want, but I’d thank you to get out of my house before I call the police.”

Esme laughed, “You wouldn’t.”

“Why ever not? You’re the one in hot water now, not me.”

Esme stood up and crept closer to Olivia, stiletto heels echoing on the bare wooden floors. She took one long nailed finger and ran it across Olivia’s cheek. Olivia longed for a sense of repulsion that never arrived. “I wouldn’t be too sure that you’re out of hot water,” Esme said. 

“Why did you say you thought I understood you?” Olivia asked, changing the subject. Despite Esme’s threat, she felt rather unbothered. “What changed your mind?” She was pleased at her delivery, knowing that, for once, she sounded as confident as she had intended. 

“That night at the Talbot, I learned…” Esme lowered her voice as though she was about to tell a naughty secret, “I learned that you’re like Georgina. I thought that I had finally found a young man who was as honest and good as Jerome, but also loved me for who I am, not who he wanted me to be. Before I met you, I didn’t know that there could be men like that. Now, I know there can’t be. You love me the same way Georgina did, as only a woman could. You wouldn’t let me see you that night and I knew the truth, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to live in the fantasy a little longer.” 

Horrified, Olivia stepped back, “You can’t prove any of that. Besides, no one would believe you anyway. You’ve told the whole town you’re carrying my child. That’s what your husband thinks. Who would believe you if you said these crazy things now?” Olivia felt the steadiness seeping out of her voice, but she knew that what she was saying was true. Esme had no proof of anything, and her letters to Georgina had discredited her with the authorities and likely even with Jerome. 

“When I made my announcement at Gertrude’s, I thought it would compel you to tell everyone in the room who—and what—you really are. I thought you would want to escape blame. I don’t understand you, and you don’t understand me. I’m not the sort of woman who makes a perverse life with other women. Clearly, you thought I could be or you would not have pursued me. Georgie always thought I’d settle in with her too. Neither of you understood. I can dapple in perversity, what woman can’t? But it doesn’t mean that I’m perverse in the way that you are. And you made me believe in a sort of man who could never exist. That’s the cruelest thing imaginable.” 

“You can’t prove any of this,” Olivia repeated, “Get the fuck out of my house.”

Esme’s eyes gleamed, “You’re wrong, dearest. You see, after Georgina died, I found her camera. Of course, I never looked through it until recently, but you can imagine what I found when I did. It confirmed all of my expectations.”

Olivia felt vomit rising in her throat, as, yet again, Esme had gotten the upper hand. Perhaps she would no longer be in trouble with the law for rape, but Esme could expose her for the crimes of perversity and dishonesty. Due to all the mayhem of the night at the bathhouse, she had not thought of Georgina’s camera in some time. Esme must have fetched it that night before walking to Georgina’s home, where Olivia had found her. “Please,” Olivia said softly, “I admit that I’ve done some wrong in my life. You know better than anyone that living in a man’s world isn’t easy,” she hesitated, “Maybe its perverse, maybe its insane, but I don’t care. I love you. I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”

“I don’t know who you are.” Esme said, in an oddly detached tone. When she looked into Olivia’s eyes again, her own eyes were full. “Farewell, Darling,” she said softly. 

As she left, Olivia knew she would come to no harm from Esme, not again. She had felt an unspoken truce dance between them. Nevertheless, she was no happier for it, and she spent the remainder of the day floating in a space of sadness that was too deep for tears.


	8. The Ponderous Poet

The weeks following Olivia’s conversation with Esme were uneventful. The charges against her were dropped and, though Esme had to pay a fine for her involvement with Georgina, that issue ultimately fell from people’s minds as well. For the first time since she had moved to Mineral Springs, Olivia kept to herself. No longer did she stroll through Bathhouse Lane in the evenings, wondering at the glittering sights it offered. Instead, she rarely left her apartment. She continued to write, but often skipped classes. Eventually Jerome sent her a letter informing her that she was on track to flunk out of her degree program. The thought of flunking out encouraged her to return to her classes, but she found no comfort there. Though the charges Esme had raised against her had been dropped, Jerome had no warmth for Olivia any longer, and his feedback was cold and often unhelpful. Olivia found herself losing hope that she would ever be the sort of writer she had hoped she might be upon entering this program. However, as was often the case in Mineral Springs, inspiration for Olivia’s poetry ultimately came from a surprising new source. 

In the middle of October, Jerome was hosting a reading in which all of his current poetry students were to read the best of their work before a captive audience in Mineral Springs’ town hall. Town hall was perhaps the most elegant building in town, with a large clock tower that sounded each quarter of an hour and a lovely redbrick façade. Under ordinary circumstances, Olivia would have been quite proud to present her work at such a venue. She knew, however, that she was not without a reputation in Mineral Springs, and that left her feeling uncomfortably exposed. 

When the evening of the reading arrived, Olivia was so nervous that she felt as though her heart would beat out of her throat. She trembled, sweating miserably until at last, Jerome called her name. He had introduced the other students who had read before Olivia affectionately, but it didn’t surprise her that Jerome simply read her name aloud with no further comment before sending her to the podium. Attempting to block out the countless unfamiliar faces that stared back into hers, Olivia cleared her throat, focused her gaze on the auditorium’s backdoor, and began to read. 

The air in the room grew thick somehow, as Olivia spoke in a trembling voice. Her flesh crawled with discomfort as she read the words to a poem she had written some months earlier—about her mother’s death, about becoming a librarian and dreaming of a life like the ones she witnessed through books, about finding that life and hating it, about loving Esme and hating her. As she spoke, the tremble fell out of her voice, but she hardly noticed, so lost was she in the space of her own mind. 

When she finished the piece, there was a thunderous applause. Not the kind of applause characterized by cheers or “whoops” from the audience, but rather the kind of reverent reaction that a crowd can have to something profound. Olivia, in the moment, was taken aback by the reaction. Jerome had told her on numerous occasions that her work was good, that she had potential, but to see the reaction now was mind-blowing. She nearly stumbled as she walked back to her seat on the stage, and when the event ended sometime later, she was still so wobbly that standing was difficult. Jerome had planned an after-party to be held in the front room of town hall, but Olivia had no intention of attending. Intention or not, however, escaping the venue unnoticed proved impossible, as, in order to leave the building, walking through the front room was a necessity. As a result, she was stopped by a number of people, all of whom wanted to congratulate her on the quality of her work. She thanked them, but she felt her heart wasn’t in her words. For some reason, the thing she wanted most in the world now was to retreat to the safety of her dim, cozy apartment. 

She was within fifteen feet of the door and the sweet freedom that it would enable when she heard yet another voice call out, “Oliver! Oliver, may I have a word?”

Olivia turned around obligatorily and saw, to her amazement, that the mayor’s daughter and Olaf’s wife, Violet, was standing very nearby. She smiled broadly and Olivia saw that her eyes were bright with emotion. “I have not heard poetry like that in years. Jerome is right; you’re a real talent.”

“Not like Jerome, I’m afraid,” Olivia replied modestly, “Perhaps I’ve learned a lot being his student over the last year or so.”

Violet nodded uncertainly. “That may be, but you’ve got a voice all your own as well. Trust me, I know. Jerome makes this town too romantic, a fairy tale rather than a reality. What you just read was real.” As she spoke, she gestured grandly with her arms, as if doing so would convey all that she had felt as Oliver had read. She lowered her voice conspiratorially before saying more, “Olaf had to leave, but he was here tonight. He heard you read. And your words brought him to emotion I’ve never seen in him before.”

This Olivia had not been expecting. “I’m surprised, considering how things ended.”

Violet nodded, “Not that it will mean much coming from me, but I’m so sorry about that night. I married Olaf because I thought he could be better than what I saw that night. I still think he can be. All I know is that he admires you deeply, regardless of insecurities he may have had over your relationship with Esme. The words you said tonight resonated with him.”

Feeling as though some weight had been lifted from her, Olivia said, “Well if he appreciated it, I guess maybe it did capture Mineral Springs better than I thought. After all, nobody knows this damn place like he does.”

Violet grinned, “Except for maybe me,” she said, and Olivia began to get the impression that there was far more to Olaf’s bride than met the eye. “I want to make a suggestion. My brother works for a publishing house just outside of the city, a rather good one too. Please consider sending your manuscript to him. I think it may be just what he has been looking for in recent days.”

Startled, Olivia asked, “Wait, you mean I would be published? Like in a book?”

“Not just in a book! It would be your book, your collection. Tell me you’ll send it to him or at least consider it.”

With jittery excitement, Oliva responded as if automatically. “I will.” 

“Good,” Violet said, and with that, she proceeded to give Olivia her brother’s information and, in doing so, breathed new life into Olivia’s literary career. 

xxx

By the holiday season, Olivia Caliban’s life had changed radically. She had gone from being someone who desired to know as much about Mineral Springs and its people as was possible to sliding into a reclusive state, joyless, reckless, and empty.

Despite all of those qualities, however, Olivia was paradoxically achieving the greatest success she had yet seen as a poet. To her amazement, Violet’s brother, Klaus Baudelaire, had determined that her poetry was well worth publishing and her first collection of work was to be published early the next year. Olivia knew how rare it was for an MFA student to have a published poetry collection so quickly, but she didn’t care as much as she knew she could have. After all, she expected she would never have such inspiration again, hiding away from the world as she was. Her success had inspired her to attend enough classes to pass, but not to excel. She still needed her stipend even if she had begun to view the degree as a bit trite and overrated. 

Initially, some of her peers were unwilling to accept her new recluse status. Jacquelyn, for one, often called on her, writing her letters and asking her to re-emerge, but even for that charming face, Olivia couldn’t muster the strength. There was too much numbness coursing through her. 

One afternoon, when Olivia was rushing off of campus and toward the safety of her apartment, she was surprised to see Jerome Squalor approaching her. Despite her success, Jerome had not so much as congratulated her on her upcoming book. The newfound cynicism she was nursing told her that he was jealous—some critics were already suggesting that her work was more significant than anything he had written in years—and she was already regretting an exchange with him before he reached her side. 

Once he arrived, Jerome did not dispense with pleasantries. Olivia expected nothing less. “I don’t want to drag this out. Klaus has told me you’re planning to attend the Gregory convention over the new year. Is that true?”

Olivia smiled, her lips peeling away from her teeth in an aggressive manner. The effect was not lost on Jerome, who stepped back subtly in response to her reaction. “Yes, I’m going,” she said, “but I don’t think that should be a problem for you or your lovely wife. After all, you and I have managed to go an entire semester without speaking and we spend a lot of time on the same campus. I don’t see why the convention would be any different.”  
Jerome didn’t appear satisfied, “That’s where you’re wrong. The Gregory Convention is as much a social outing as it is a poetry conference. It’s in the Bahamas, for Heaven’s sake! And because you go to Tinchlin and you’ve achieved such quick success, everyone will assume you’re my student. We’ll have to pretend to associate, spend much time together-”

Olivia placed an arm conspiratorially on Jerome’s. Jerome, for his part, recoiled as if he had been burned. She utterly ignored him. “Don’t you see, Jerome? I’m not afraid of the truth anymore. I’ll be happy to tell everyone I encounter what our…situation us. Hell, if they’re interested in gossip between academics, I suspect they already know what the situation is. I’m not like you and Esme, so obsessed with appearances and empty pleasantries. I assure you that we won’t spend a moment in each other’s company. In fact, I can currently think of nothing I’d enjoy less.”

Olivia turned and walked briskly away from Jerome, despite his protests of “Oliver, wait! That wasn’t even what I wanted to discuss!” Olivia didn’t care. Whatever he had to say, it was worthless. That’s all anyone in this city was. She was going to the Gregory Convention, all right, but only with the goal of making Jerome Squalor and all of his sycophants look like damn fools. She would make Oliver the most dashing man at the convention in every respect, but she didn’t truly care about impressing anyone aside from the one individual who secretly knew that she was Olivia and not Oliver. Olivia wanted to show Esme that perversity could be stylish in all the ways she fancied, if only to remind her of what she had lost. 

xxx

In the days leading up to the new year, Olivia took a ferry to Paradise Island in the Bahamas, where the Gregory Convention was being held. Despite the darkness that had consistently characterized that year, Olivia felt her spirits threaten to lift as the ferry carried her across the bluest waters she had ever seen. The sun caught the surf and made it blinding, but Olivia didn’t mind. The ocean was seductive, hypnotic, and Olivia was glad to spend much of the afternoon in its company. She thought of her childhood and how she had often marveled over the ocean when she had been younger, dreaming of stories about mermaids and cities lost forever beneath the sea. Though the ocean was as wonderful as it had ever been, Olivia’s imagination, she knew, had lost much of its prior zeal, and she was left to ponder its depths with no guesses as to what lay beneath the thunderous waves. 

Paradise Island, just outside of Nassau, was home in those days to a massive seaside resort, a place that was celebrated, incidentally, for many of the same qualities that characterized Mineral Springs. The resort boasted a remarkable casino that attracted gamblers from across the world. Aside from this, it was discussed—often—for its astounding suites which served as temporary homes for the greatest of the high rollers. For this week, however, it was housing almost as many poets as it was gamblers, the greatest poets in the world—on paper at least. The flashiness of Paradise Island entitled it to flashy visitors, no matter their profession. 

When the ferry docked, Olivia could not disguise her awe at the sight of the place, and her astoundment only increased as a bell boy escorted her through the enchanted gardens and pools that decorated the island and toward one of the hotel’s taller towers, where she would be staying for the week. Her room was almost gaudy in its glamor, with golden streamers covering the bed and $800,000 octopus lamps hanging from the ceiling, but Olivia felt that the gaudiness could be overlooked in favor of the ocean view, which was raw and breathtaking. When at last she was alone in her room, she laughed hysterically. 

xxx  
The first dinner of the convention was held in a restaurant attached to the casino. Like the resort itself, it was a beguiling establishment with perhaps too much flare, but Olivia didn’t mind. She drank herself into a stupor, and, when she was asked to speak, her responses were ineloquent. She didn’t care. Her work, she felt, spoke for itself. Klaus Baudelaire had said so after all. When after four drinks, she finally excused herself to go out for a smoke, Esme Squalor followed her. Olivia heard whispers from the crowd, and she knew rumors about her and Esme were still circling. She felt a thrill, knowing that Jerome’s shame was obvious. She didn’t know if she could ever forgive him for so quickly assuming her a rapist despite their previous close relationship. 

Feeling unusually bold, Olivia waited outside of the restaurant for Esme to join her. “You want a smoke too?” she asked, once they were out of earshot of the restaurant guests. 

Esme cocked her head playfully, “No, I’ve got something better,” and from her purse, she took out a small bag of white powder. 

In spite of her newfound boldness, Olivia was skittish. “I’m not sure about that shit,” she said. 

“Well you need to get sure about it,” Esme retorted, “You’re looking for a good night. This is the best night you’ve ever had.” As she spoke, Esme leaned into Olivia’s ear. Her scent was disorganized, vodka, perfume, and hairspray coming together in a heady blend. With so little distance between them, she was absolutely intoxicating. “Come on, Olivia,” she purred, “Don’t be a pussy.”

At the sound of her true name—a name Esme must have guessed based on context—in Esme’s luscious mouth, Olivia felt as though her body had suffered an electrical shock. Every part of her tingled, and not, she realized, in a bad way. Now, at last, someone could see her completely. She opened her palm, “I’m no pussy,” she said playfully. 

“Glad to hear it,” Esme replied, as traces of her old warmth painted her voice. 

xxx

If there had been a better evening in recent memory, Olivia had forgotten it. Heedless of their history, Olivia followed Esme throughout the island with the devotion of a puppy pursuing its master. Esme first stopped in the resort’s lobby, which was home to a world class aquarium. With Esme’s gift roaring through her body, Olivia felt limitless. The aquarium before them was another world in which she and Esme could imagine an escape. Perhaps, in a wild city under the sea, there would be space for a gorgeous socialite and her would be woman-husband. In view of the entire lobby, Esme kissed Olivia full on the lips. She heard camera’s flash—it was surely newsworthy that Jerome’s wife was persisting in her affair with the mysterious Oliver Caliban—but Olivia’s mind was elsewhere, lost in the space of this evening. The lobby’s scent of sea salt and cigarettes—another delightfully disorganized smell—threatened to bring Olivia to her knees. “Esme,” she whispered passionately, “I’m so sorry.”

“Shh, not here, Darling. There is no place for that tonight.” As if unaware of the crowd gathering in the lobby, Esme took Olivia by the hand, and led her out into the night beyond. When they reached the beach, Esme sat down on a rock near the surf. 

Olivia looked at her quizzically. “Aren’t you concerned that the water will destroy your dress?”

Esme shrugged, “I have others. Come, sit with me.”

Olivia did, feeling a kind of nervous elation. She had kissed Esme and, this time, Esme knew everything. There was, certainly, a kind of magic that accompanied the loss of her mask. Yet, as she sat beside Esme, she could feel the mood shifting. Determined to take control of the situation this time, she asked, “What really happened between you and Georgina?”

If Esme was offended by the question, she didn’t let on. “She saved me. I was in the asylum for…” she gestured grandly in Olivia’s direction, “…for this.”

“This? You mean sleeping with other women?” Olivia asked.

Esme nodded, as though relieved the words didn’t have to grace her lips. “Yes. There was a girl I knew when I was a teenager. We had a connection. Honestly, it was mostly kisses and sloppy experimenting, didn’t mean much. But, of course, my mother didn’t believe me when she caught us in my room. So, at fourteen, I was shipped off to the asylum in Mineral Springs. Without Georgina, I would never have had a future. She bought me from the asylum, you see. Said that if I was willing to work for her, she’d take me out of there.”

Olivia pulled away, incapable of disguising her distaste. That night at the bathhouse and Georgina’s sharp words—“Esme betrayed me!”—were flashing before her. Far from lucid, Olivia found herself stumbling erratically, in an effort to escape Esme’s grasp. She felt Esme’s long hands catch her and steady her, but there was no flush of excitement. “Everything Georgina said was true,” she said, “You betrayed her.”  
Esme’s bright eyes narrowed. “I told you. She misunderstood the sort of woman I am. She thought that, because she saved me, she was owed a life with me. But I’m not like her. I’m not like you. I don’t want to spend my life with a woman.”

“Don’t you?” Olivia asked abruptly, “Your first desire as a child was a woman, Georgina profoundly shaped your life, and you developed feelings for me right away—don’t try to deny it! I understand that you care about appearances, Esme, but did it ever occur to you that perhaps they’re not worth throwing your life away for?”

“And what are you suggesting, hmm? That I openly live with a woman, her lover in all the obvious ways? That’s a crime. You know that better than anyone.” Esme pulled Olivia down so that they were sitting side-by-side. Her voice was quieter now, and Olivia found that almost disconcerting. “We both know that there is no future in a relationship like mine with Georgina or the one that…that we have. There is no way forward in that.” 

In desperation, Olivia buried her face in her hands, unwilling to look at the other woman as she whispered. “I love you. I love you despite all of that.” As she spoke, Olivia’s voice quivered, “How could you let me kill Georgina, knowing that she was a woman like me? How could you leave her for Olaf?”

Esme scoffed, as though Olivia’s comment were foolish. “I didn’t lie about Georgina’s intensity. She loved me, but she harmed me in ways too numerous to name.” Olivia recalled the night she had spent with Georgina in the Bathhouse, and silently acknowledged that there might, at least, be some truth to Esme’s words. She could not bring herself to respond, however. 

Esme paused for a moment, as if searching for the right words. Finally, she said, “She knew too much. Just as you know too much now.” Before she could prevent it, Olivia felt Esme’s lips press against hers, and she yielded, incapable of acting otherwise. When Esme pulled away, she whispered quickly, “I’m going back to Jerome. If you come with me, I’m going to tell everyone who you really are. You know I have proof.”

“What?” Olivia spluttered, unable to hide her surprise. “What are you saying? I have to go back, I’m part of the convention! Esme, you’re being ridiculous. If you really wanted me gone, you’d just kill me. What is this about?”

Esme didn’t look at her. “I can’t do that.”

“Can’t do what?” Olivia asked, longing to hear Esme say the words aloud. 

“You know what I meant. I can’t kill you. You aren’t who I thought you were, but I should have known that you weren’t right away.” Esme’s tone was pained, but she pressed on, “I want you out of my life. We shouldn’t constantly be around each other, it muddles things. Haven’t you been through enough in Mineral Springs, anyway? Don’t you want a fresh start?”  
Olivia laughed incredulously, “You’re asking me to give up all that I’ve developed in my life over the last year and a half for your comfort! If it makes you feel better to stop acknowledging my existence, Esme, that’s fine, but it won’t make me go away. Besides, you can’t rid yourself of me, even if you’d like to. After all, you told the whole town you were carrying “Oliver’s” child—all because you thought it would make me confess.”

Esme shrugged, with a surprising calm. “Well, babies are lost all of the time. I would know. Suit yourself, Darling. If you come back to the dining hall, know that I’ve got Georgie’s photograph and I won’t hold back.” 

Esme’s words were menacing, but her eyes were desperate. Olivia wasn’t intimidated. For the moment, however, she decided to play along. “Go back, then,” she said, “I need a moment to think.” 

Esme shook her head, and, without a word, she turned to leave, walking back through the island’s zigzag path and toward the casino. It was only once she had faded from view that Olivia felt the gravity of the situation. If she were to re-enter the hall, Esme would unveil her identity her before everyone. Esme wanted her gone because she loved her, Olivia knew that much. She also knew that, regardless of what dreams she had entertained, there was no way that Esme would be willing to engage in a relationship with her, not when she had fought so hard to maintain her reputation as a woman who lacked perverse tendencies. Despite the madness, the pair had fallen in love, but that wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. 

Olivia attempted to collect herself by staring, once more, into the sea. The water, so inviting before, now only brought one image to her mind—the image of Georgina Orwell fighting for her last breaths beneath the waters of Landon Bathhouse. Olivia thought of Esme’s insistence that she leave the island without so much as saying goodbye. Briefly, Olivia considered that there would be something appropriate about ending her own life in the same way that she had ended Georgina’s, but she quickly chased the thought away. If she wanted women like Georgina, like herself, to ever have a place in the world, she would be doing them a disservice by taking her own life. Knowing what she had to do, Olivia began long, windy trek back across the island, bolstered by a combination of the drug that still coursed through her veins as well as a sense of righteousness that was growing within her with each step that she took. 

xxx

When Olivia returned to the restaurant, she was unsurprised to see that many of the convention guests had spilled out into the adjoining casino, and were trying their luck at the various slot machines and tables. For a moment, she thought that the chaos might prevent her from being seen, but a young poet soon caught sight of her, and rushed forward to tell her what he had thought of her new monograph. Soon, he was not alone, and Olivia was reminded, yet again, that her work had, in some way, empowered others. This thought so emboldened her that, when Esme did inevitably catch sight of her, she was not disturbed. Instead, she looked into the other woman’s eyes, daring her to do what she had promised. 

Esme looked as though she had swallowed a lemon, so contorted were her lips at the sight of Olivia. Olivia could not tell if Esme was disgusted that Olivia had defied her or if perhaps she did not relish the action she had committed herself to completing. Either way, Olivia was not left with much time to contemplate, because Esme cleared her throat and said, rather loudly, “It’s a shame that such an outrageous liar has become the darling of the literary scene this year. But then, I guess it makes sense. Literature is nothing but lies, after all.”

Jerome was clearly perplexed. In a far quieter tone than the one in which his wife had just spoken, he asked, “My love, what are you talking about? If seeing Oliver is upsetting to you, we can stand somewhere else.”

“I see no Oliver here,” Esme said loudly, and true to her word, she pulled a photograph from her purse. “This was recovered the night Georgina Orwell died. “Oliver” has lied to me and everyone else. She’s a woman!” 

Jerome was white as a sheet. At this point, many of the convention attendees were listening to Esme’s rant. The poets who had been clamoring around Olivia abandoned her quickly to get a better look at the photograph that Esme was holding high above her head for all to see. 

In spite of herself, Olivia felt her cheeks burn at the sight of her nude body on display. Finding her voice, she hissed, “Yes, yes! I’m a woman. I’m a woman who writes better than any of you!” There was a kind of silent shock that fell over the convention. Esme’s triumphant grin faltered, as though this reaction hadn’t been quite what she had had in mind. 

To the surprise of those assembled, Jerome spoke first, “Esme, how could you? How could you accuse Oliver—I mean this woman—of rape when you know fully well that that isn’t possible? How could you be pregnant by a woman? All of these months, I’ve been believing you.” He caught his breath and turned to face Olivia, “I’m sorry,” he said simply, but Olivia heard the gravity in his voice. “I’m so sorry.”

“What do you have to apologize for, Jerome? I still lied to you, pretended to be someone I wasn’t.”

Jerome waved a hand, as if to quiet her. “You’ve clearly proven that women are equally capable of our craft. The lie you told was one you felt you had to tell to achieve your dream. If anything, it is the fault of the university for having such rules, not yours.”

Jerome’s words were radical, but his stature as a poet and professor was far too lofty for such things to have an effect on his career. Nevertheless, the poets in the convention looked at one another in alarm, as if not able to comprehend what they were hearing and seeing. Jerome turned back to Esme, “Your lie was intended to hurt me and to hurt this woman. I don’t know why you always get off on hurting, Esme. I’ll never understand you.”

Esme cut in, determined to bring her public humiliation to an end. “No Jerome, you don’t understand me. That’s the trouble. You’ve never understood.”

“Well maybe I don’t care anymore,” Jerome said simply, and there were whispers through the crowd. 

Still vaguely shocked, Olivia glanced around the room and found that many of its occupants were looking back at her, this perverse woman in men’s trousers. An hour before, she had been amazed at the thought that Esme could see her truly. Now, the whole room was doing so, and she briefly forgot how to breathe. She expected to see horror in their eyes, but poets are sensitive souls, and that sensitivity was here reflected. She saw confusion rather than horror, sympathy rather than disdain. Esme’s latest attempt to bring her life back to the way it had been before Olivia had ever come to Mineral Springs had backfired spectacularly. Emotion burned so deeply within all parts of her that she feared it would burst forth for everyone to see. 

After a minute had passed, Olivia took a deep breath and said, “I’m not a normal woman, Jerome. I still love Esme, I’m…perverse. Don’t you understand? I’m no less culpable for being female. I didn’t rape Esme, it is true, but I shouldn’t have carried on with your wife as I did. I’m worse than a man.” Finally, the emotions welling within her won out, and tears streamed freely down her face, the release almost pleasurable. 

Jerome shook his head, and offered her a tentative smile, “You’re no worse than anyone else in Mineral Springs, my dear. If you will, tell us your name. The poets assembled here want to know whose work they’ve so grown to love.”

Swallowing her emotions, Olivia addressed the room: “I’m Olivia Caliban.”


	9. The Marvelous Madness

In the weeks following the writers’ conference, Olivia found herself getting to know Mineral Springs through new eyes. Many of her fellow graduate students, though they once respected her, now found that they could no longer look her in the eye, so disgusted were they by the thought that their work had been bested by a woman’s work. By contrast, Jerome now once again treated her with respect, despite her insistence that he should hold no love for her. When she had protested his support, he had declared, “No truly perverse desire could give birth to your beautiful writing.” Olivia was humbled, and protested no more. 

Despite the exposure of Olivia’s true identity, the university continued to refer to her as Oliver Caliban. As a matter of formality, no woman was allowed to graduate from Tinchlin University and, therefore, Olivia would technically graduate as Oliver though everyone in town now knew her secret. The thought bothered Olivia, but not overly much. Now that her identity was a given, she could take advantage of opportunities that had previously been closed to her. Perhaps her favorite among those was her newfound ability to go freely into the Mineral Springs Bathhouses and relax. It did not escape her notice, though, that when she entered the soothing waters, many of the other bathers abandoned their afternoon soak, as if afraid that Olivia’s legendary lesbianism was contagious. At one point, Olivia might have been offended by such a reaction, but now found herself unbothered by it.

Late one afternoon, after completing a manuscript of revisions for Jerome, Olivia made her way to Manchester Bathhouse for a few hours of relaxation. Though Landon Bathhouse was the greatest of the city’s major baths, Olivia could never go there, not after she had ended the life of a creature so like herself there. So she slipped into Manchester’s smoky depths and, not for the first time, allowed her mind to wander to things past. 

As she did so, she absent mindedly caught sight of another woman sitting across from her within the pool. She didn’t make eye contact, certain that the other woman would leave the space as soon as she realized that she was sharing a pool with Olivia Caliban of all people. She closed her eyes and put the woman from her mind. 

After what felt like several minutes later, she was surprised to hear the woman clear her throat. She sounded, Olivia realized, quite nearby. Anxiously, she opened her eyes. Before her, shoulders deep in the water, was Jacquelyn Scieszka. Though she felt she shouldn’t be, Olivia felt at a loss for words. Jacquelyn offered her a half-smile that felt surprisingly tentative. “Hello stranger,” she said softly. Then, after a beat, she added, “I’m glad to see you.”

Emotion welled in Olivia’s heart. “Oh I’m terribly glad to see you.”

Heedless of who might be watching, Jacquelyn pulled Olivia’s body to her chest. Close as they were, Olivia could hear the other woman’s heart pounding. At last Olivia said aloud, “You don’t hate me.” It was more of a statement than a question. 

Jacquelyn choked down a sob, “How could I ever hate you?”

Olivia shuddered, “You thought I was someone I wasn’t.”

“No,” Jacquelyn said firmly, “I saw you. I may not have seen through your disguise, but I still saw you. And I see you now. I’m unspeakably glad to see you.”

Olivia’s thoughts danced back to what Esme had said about longing to be seen, and, at once, she felt she knew what she had meant. She looked into Jacquelyn’s grey eyes, and leaned in to kiss her lips. Relief and a searing pleasure throbbed within her as Jacquelyn responded in kind. Olivia’s hands traveled Jacquelyn’s frame, tracing her figure with a sudden shyness that surprised her. As they broke apart, she said, “With you, I feel like a teenager, new to love. How can love have such power at my age?”

Jacquelyn cocked her head back as Olivia rain her fingers over the other woman’s thighs. She did not respond verbally to Olivia’s question, but instead pulled her in for another searing kiss. After a moment, Jacquelyn reached for the top of Olivia’s swimming suit in an effort to remove it. Olivia started, “Not here,” she said, “In the showers.” So intense was their desire that they barely made it to the bathhouse showers before Jacquelyn had removed Olivia’s apparel and was kneeling between her legs. As she kissed her there, both gently and passionately at once, Olivia could only cry out, “My god, my god! How I love you. I love you madly!” and she did not care at all who could hear. As waves of pleasure washed over her, she thought of Esme and what she had said on Paradise Island about her drugs—that they would give Olivia the greatest sensations of her life. Though Esme was not there to see her, Olivia found herself shaking her head, her mind crying out, “Life’s greatest delight is not escapism, it is freedom! It is love! It is madness!”

xxx

The following morning, Olivia slept until nearly 9 am. When she woke, she saw that Jacquelyn was still beside her, breathing softly as a child. She carefully brushed a stray hair away from her face and watched for a moment. Never had she believed that there would be a woman who would embrace perversity with her, and see beauty in it. Perhaps, then, Jerome was right and there was no perversity within her after all. The thought made her giddy. Half dressed, she walked to her balcony, absent mindedly dragging on a cigarette. Below her, she could see that Bathhouse Lane had already awoken, various shoppers buzzing about in the hope of finding good deals. Above the hubbub, a dove was singing. 

“Do you know many doves pick a mate of their own sex?” Jacquelyn came up from behind Olivia, eyes bleary. She wrapped her arms around her. 

Olivia beamed. “Then I wish to be your dove, if you will have me.”

Jacquelyn nestled her head along Olivia’s shoulder. “I will.” For the first time since she had moved to Mineral Springs, something like peace embraced Olivia and, with a quiet ecstasy, she let it wash over her.  
xxx

Esme Squalor was sitting on the sofa in her living room that overlooked Lake Davidson. She twitched nervously, wondering what time Jerome would be home. Over the past weeks, she had learned to dread his homecoming and the tense silences it would bring. Her husband, once adoring, now had no interest in speaking to her at all. Though she feigned indignance at his behavior, she secretly could not fault him. After all, he had respected Olivia Caliban, and she had attempted to discredit her multiple times. Jerome was nothing if not a creature of loyalty and habit, and Esme knew she had left him with precious few reasons to be loyal to her. 

Despite the draftiness of the window, Esme stood up and put her hand to it. She remembered a summer day of years ago, not long after Georgina had taken her away from that filthy asylum, when she and Georgina had had rented a sailboat and spent several hours sequestered within one of Lake Davidson’s many private inlets. Esme remembered how she had felt then—wild, needy, liberated. Now that winter had come, the water was far from its peaceful summer self. The icy winds whipped across the waves, leaving white caps in their wake. Georgina had always loved water. She had loved the lake, with all of its mystery, and the bathhouses with all of their allure. How fitting that she had died there—and at the hands of a woman so much like herself!

Esme heard Jerome’s key turn in the lock, and she braced herself for the impending awkwardness. It was only as Jerome opened the door that she realized it was raining. As he entered the foyer, a gale accompanied him, and the water scattered all over the floor. Instead of remaining silent as she had the previous evenings, Esme turned to face him, crying out “How could you let the water in? How the devil could you do that?”

Jerome, apparently almost relieved to see such a passionate response to anything in her, said, “Whatever do you mean, Esme? I can’t control the weather.”

Esme hesitated, as Jerome’s question was, admittedly, a rather good one. She did not even know quite what she meant. She swallowed the lump in her throat as she attempted to slow the heaving in her chest. “How did you just accept it?” she asked shakily. 

Jerome sighed, exasperated. “How did I just accept what?” 

“Olivia.” Esme said, as though the still relatively unfamiliar name left a sour taste in her mouth. “How could you just accept her in spite of her lying. How could you forgive her…perversity?”

Jerome shook his head, as though Esme were being deliberately slow. For a moment, Esme’s heart ached at the absence of the devoted love she had once so deeply associated with her husband. “Frankly, Esme, I don’t believe love—of any kind—is perverse. I think people can be, but perversity is a disease of the heart, not of desire. At heart, people who desire their own sex are no more perverse than a man like me or a man like Olaf. What twists a person is their heart.” Esme started to speak, but he cleared his throat to indicate he wasn’t finished. She took a breath and let him. “Olivia is not without flaws—none of us are—but I see her heart, and it is good. You saw it too. The same qualities that drew you to me drew you to her. Esme, I don’t mind that you’ve fallen in love with women before. If you remember, I married you knowing that. I mind that you’ve made a career of harming other people.”

Suddenly desperate, Esme choked back a sob, “What will you do then, Jerome? Will you divorce me?”

Jerome studied the obscenely pink wallpaper across from him. “I don’t know.”

Unsatisfied with this response, Esme chose to ignore it. “I’d have nowhere to go if you divorced me. Jerome, if you’ve ever loved me, you can’t do that.”

Jerome looked at her somberly, “You know I love you deeply—too deeply for any of the words I’ve ever written about it. I could never not love you. But we shouldn’t be together, and you would get along without me.”

“I don’t know how, Darling. You know I love you too. I don’t—can’t—always show it, but I do. The truth is that I haven’t a clue what I would do without you.” She reached her hands forward to take his, but he didn’t respond in kind. 

“Likewise,” he said quietly, “but we’re going to have to learn.” He still did not look directly at her, as though doing so was just too difficult. 

Esme’s mouth opened several times, like a fish gasping for breath. Finally, she said, “You cannot be serious.” 

Jerome finally raised his eyes to meet hers. “I am,” he said simply, though she could see it brought him no pleasure. 

“I don’t think I can stay in the city if you divorce me. People will talk—I’ll see you—I just don’t think I can stand it.” Esme hated the way that her voice trembled, hated the vulnerable sensation of accepting how much her confidence in Mineral Springs had stemmed from Jerome’s support. That was a kind of love, wasn’t it? Maybe it wasn’t as glamorous or passionate as the way that she had loved Olaf or Georgina, but perhaps it was closer to the true meaning of the word. “I do love you, my darling,” she repeated, not to change his mind, but to make him understand.

Jerome’s face contorted miserably, “I know.” 

Esme was uncharacteristically silent as she took off her wedding ring and placed it in his shaking hands. 

xxx  
Despite the rather liberal atmosphere in Mineral Springs, the people still struggled over the notion that two women could love each other as a man and a woman might. As a result, though it was open knowledge that Olivia was a woman, she often went out dressed as a man when she attended major events in town. One such major event, the Mineral Springs holiday party, was fast approaching. It was, as so many major events were, to be held in the lobby of the Talbot Hotel. The last time Olivia had spent any serious time there had been the night Olaf had married Violet Baudelaire, and, though she looked forward to being able to attend the event with Jacquelyn, there was, she had to admit, a worm of dread at the thought that memories of her time with Esme might threaten to overwhelm her. She was determined to dismiss such memories, as she knew that, for her own sake, they had no place in her current life. 

The night of the event arrived, and Olivia’s excitement overtook any remaining dread. There was a dusting of snow on the ground, an unusual occurrence in that part of the country, and Olivia took it to be a good sign. She wore her best suit, and she was glad to wear it. She had to admit that men’s clothing was more pleasing to wear than women’s gowns. It was almost never as cumbersome. Jacquelyn opted for a deep green dress that beautifully complemented her strawberry-blonde hair. As she got ready before the bathroom mirror, Olivia watched her, unabashed. Once, Jacquelyn caught her eye in the mirror and asked, cheekily, “See something you like?” 

Olivia blushed, but returned her coyness. “I think I might.”

Jacquelyn turned around in mock horror. “You might?”

Olivia nodded, “I might.” She strode over to the vanity and leaned in for a smoldering kiss that sent their hearts racing. As they parted, Jacquelyn reached for Olivia’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes, dearest.”

And so she was. The air outside was crisp, and Jacquelyn pressed herself tightly to Olivia’s side. When they walked through the old revolving door and into the Talbot’s grand hall, Olivia was unsurprised to see the usual crowd assembled: people from the university, Olaf’s men, gamblers who frequented Mineral Springs’ coffeeshops enough that she knew their faces. They were a motley assortment, but Olivia was starting to recognize that she belonged in this city, at the heart of its chaos. She thrived on it. In her back of the room, a live band was playing tunefully. Olivia found herself particularly drawn to the saxophone, which gave a sudden sexy sigh as she and Jacquelyn inched toward the buffet line in the back of the hall. 

“Olivia!” She looked up to see Jerome walking toward her. He looked eccentric, but dapper his golden suit. “I’m glad to see you’ve come. And you as well, Jacquelyn, of course.”

“Well we’re happy to see you too!” Jacquelyn responded graciously before Olivia could reply, “I’m sure you’ve got other plans, but Olivia and I would love it if you came to sit with us for a bit this evening.” Olivia fought the urge to whistle in admiration. The word had spread that the unthinkable had happened—that Jerome Squalor had finally decided to divorce his wife, Esme. Jacquelyn was, without allowing things to become unnecessarily uncomfortable, reminding him that he didn’t have to be alone this evening. 

“Yes, Jerome,” Olivia added, “You’re always welcome with us.”

Jerome clasped Olivia’s hand. “You are both so kind. I’d be happy to sit at your table this evening.”

For a while, the three of them were happy. Olivia was sure that the guests were staring at them—after all, the sight of Jerome Squalor enjoying a night on the town with his degenerate student and her partner was not the sort of thing to pass unnoticed—but Olivia didn’t mind. She ignored the attention until it eventually passed, and the gossips found more important things to consider. Violet McReggens was nearly full term, and there were gossipy guests who spent much of the evening watching her and Olaf like hawks, wondering if the poor woman would go into labor in the middle of the event. Violet did look exhausted, but lovely as always. When she saw Olivia, she waved warmly. Without hesitation, Olivia waved back. Violet’s wave caused Olaf to look up from what he was doing and catch the direction of his wife’s gaze. When he saw Olivia, he surprised her by nodding his head, subtly but respectfully. Olivia glanced downward to disguise the pride she felt. If she had needed confirmation that she had officially found a place in Mineral Springs, that was it. 

Eventually, the drinking and carousing gave way to dancing, and Olivia found herself clutching Jacquelyn and swaying lazily across the dance floor. Jacquelyn removed Olivia’s hat, and allowed her hair, which had grown long in recent months, to fall freely about her face. She tucked her head beneath Olivia’s chin, and Olivia believed she had never felt so deeply connected to another person in her life. 

As the music faded, the saxophonist stepped up to the microphone and made a statement that no one had expected though, perhaps, they should have. “Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together! Tonight, for her last performance in Mineral Springs, we call Esme Squalor to the stage.”

The mellow joy that had so pervaded all aspects of the evening moments before seemed to vanish in an instant. Olivia’s eyes sought Jerome, but she had lost him in the depths of the throng. She felt Jacquelyn pull her even closer, as if to protect her. 

Perhaps in defiance of the holiday colors, Esme wore a bright gold dress that seemed to catch every light in the lobby-turned-ballroom. In the past few months, Olivia had heard snatches of whispers about Esme—that she had lost her touch, that she was becoming irrelevant, was no longer the beauty she had been. Any person who had said such things would surely now be looking quite the fool, as Olivia had to admit that she had never seen Esme lovelier. Though the guests were encouraged to dance, none did. Instead, they mostly stood, inert, watching her as if seeing her was quenching some thirst within them that they had previously failed to observe. Her voice, husky and mournful, sang of the perils of being the other woman and of the irresistible danger that was Mineral Springs. Though there was a wry joy in the lyrics, the tremble in her voice betrayed a depth of feeling Olivia felt she had never entirely seen in Esme. As she watched, she felt almost that she was seeing Esme for the first time in her life. 

When Esme finished singing, the room was silent. Though it was largely dark, Olivia was able to make out the shape of Olaf, who was sitting at a table diagonal from where she was standing. She inwardly cursed the darkness, as she felt a sudden desire to see his face. 

Esme’s voice pulled Olivia’s attention back to the stage. “Ladies and Gentlemen of Mineral Springs!” she exclaimed. If she was strained emotionally in any way, her demeanor did not reveal it. “How terribly glad I am to see you tonight. When I was asked to perform, I thought ‘well, what a perfect way to end my time in this remarkable city!’” Then, as though reacting to a joke only she could hear, she giggled, a high pitched, not entirely pleasant sound that was nevertheless resonant. “Can you honestly imagine Mineral Springs without me?” she asked.

A man in the back of the crowd cried out, his voice cracking with emotion, “Never!”

Esme’s lip quirked as she suppressed a smile, “That was rhetorical, Darling. I wouldn’t want to distress my dear husband further, after all. I do so respect Jerome, and I know this is his city before it is mine.” Esme’s eyes scanned the crowd, “I know you’re here, my love,” she said with uncharacteristic softness. “I do hope you’re having a good night.” 

Olivia searched for Jerome, but his reactions, too, were obscured in the dim light. Esme cleared her throat. “Before I leave tonight, I’m going to perform one more number. It is exceptionally special to me, written by someone who loved me mightily once. I hope you enjoy it.”

As the opening notes played, Olivia felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. It was the melody Georgina’s band had played all of those months ago, when Olivia had happened into the Talbot’s bar that lazy June night. Olivia had not realized at that time that the composition Georgina had played had had lyrics as well. As Esme opened her mouth to sing, however, Olivia realized, with a jolt, that Esme had added lyrics to Georgina’s piece. She knew this for certain because the lyrics were the words to one of Olivia’s recent poems. Unfortunately for Olivia, many of the party guests were beginning to recognize this as well, as many heads turned toward her. She was suddenly happy for the veil of darkness, as she could only imagine the color of her cheeks. In her ear, she heard Jacquelyn whisper, “Do you want to sit down? Or we could leave?”

“No,” Olivia whispered, more harshly than she had meant to. Despite the relative darkness, Olivia knew instantly that her tone had hurt Jacquelyn. The other woman dropped her arm as though it were on fire and went to reclaim her seat at their table on the other side of the room. Without thinking, Olivia followed her. As they arrived at the table, she said, “Jackie, what is it? I was just surprised to hear that Esme had put my lyrics to music without even consulting me. If I sounded snappy, that was the only reason. It had nothing to do with you. Come love, don’t be angry. Please.”

Jacquelyn’s eyes were welling with tears, and Olivia could see instantly that she had misunderstood the cause of her grief. “It isn’t that,” she said. She swallowed, and looked at Olivia with a new intensity. “You still love Esme. Even now, after everything, you love her. I feel like a fool, thinking I could replace her.”

Olivia’s heart twisted. “I don’t love her like I love you. Our love is real, its reciprocal, that’s what love is.”

Jacquelyn nodded faintly, “Those are pretty words, Olivia, but it doesn’t make them true. You know love isn’t that simple. Your poetry reveals it, even if you don’t. You may be happy with me—may love me even—but I’ll never be Esme.”

“And thank god for that!” Olivia exclaimed, “Don’t be sour, Jackie. I don’t want to be with anyone but you.” 

“I need some air, I think.” Jacquelyn whimpered, “Don’t follow me.” 

“If you’re going home, at least let me call you a cab. Oh, I wish you wouldn’t go.”

Jacquelyn sighed. “Esme ruins everything,” she said quietly, “It is the one thing she’s consistently good at.” 

Olivia found she couldn’t disagree. 

xxx

The party dragged on for hours after Jacquelyn left and Esme’s set ended. Olivia wanted to leave as soon as Jacquelyn had, but the thought of returning to her apartment without her lover resulted in her staying at the bash far longer than she had planned, smoking cigarette after cigarette and making polite conversation with people she barely knew. Without Jacquelyn, Mineral Springs was again aggressive and cold. Several people asked her what she thought of Esme’s set, whether she had been surprised that Esme had put her words to music, whether she had been frustrated by it. Olivia was left to answer it all honestly: she didn’t know. She didn’t know how she felt about any of it, only that there was an overabundance of feeling that threatened to leave her deranged if she didn’t sort through it. When she finally did leave the Talbot, it was close to 1 am, and, rather than catching a cab, she walked, somewhat aimlessly, down Bathhouse Lane. She knew it was dangerous, but she didn’t care. Some wicked combination of Jacquelyn’s scornful whispers and Esme’s sultry voice singing her own words refused to stop plaguing her ears. When she finally did reach her apartment, she found she was far too distressed for sleep. 

On the landing outside of her home, she saw, to her surprise, a cream-colored note addressed to her. Curious, she picked it up. As she read its contents, the blood drained from her face, and she found herself rushing out into the cold night beyond, attempting to reach Landon Bathhouse. She feared, however, that she was already far too late.


	10. The Fabulous Freakshow

It was half past two in the morning by the time that Olivia finally reached Landon Bathhouse. The back window was, as the note on her landing had indicated, wide open. With some difficulty, Olivia pushed herself through it, just as she had on that wicked night all those months earlier. As she walked quickly through the hallway that led to the bathing area, the moonlight highlighted her shadow. She thought, briefly, that it seemed almost demonic, and that, given the circumstances, was fitting indeed. 

As she strode into the bathing area, she felt relief wash over her like a powerful force. There, on the side of the great bath, was Esme Squalor. She was practically nude and her makeup, which had been beautiful at the Talbot, was smudged and wild. Olivia had never seen her look so pathetic. By Esme’s side was a box of drug store razor blades. Olivia’s throat felt dry beyond description. Never one to refuse the opportunity to take charge, even under such circumstances, Esme broke the silence, “What is it, Olivia? Have you come to watch my final performance?” She laughed without mirth. 

“That isn’t funny at all, and you know it.” Olivia hissed, “Esme, what are you even thinking, coming here?”

Esme’s eyes twinkled, as though she already belonged to another world. “Olivia, Darling, when I was a girl, I always used to say that I would never live to be forty, that it wouldn’t suit a woman of my kind to go far beyond that. I’m thirty-nine this year. I know I don’t look it, but it is true. And I want to be with Georgina.”

Olivia swallowed tears of anger, “You don’t want to die, Esme. You’d have never written me that letter if you had wanted that. You wanted me to come here.”

Esme rolled her eyes, “In truth, I thought I’d have done it before you arrived. I thought you might not see the letter until the morning, that you and your sweetheart would be making up under hot sheets.”

“Don’t be vulgar,” Olivia snapped. Esme brought her hand before her mouth in mock offense. 

“I wonder,” she said airily, “I wonder how often you will think of me when you lay with her in the future. I wonder if I’ll flitter across your mind at any point.”

“Don’t be foolish, Esme.”

Esme shrugged, “Why is it foolish?”

Olivia cast her eyes toward the floor, “Because you know the answer.”

Esme fixed Olivia with an uncharacteristically soft look. “You are so tender and loving. It’s what I’ve loved most about you, whether you were in disguise or not. You know, I think I always knew who—or what—you were and deepest part of me didn’t mind. But there is one thing I cannot reconcile. How could you have done it? How did you kill Georgina? There is a part of me that will never be able to forgive you for it.”

Tears streamed freely down Olivia’s cheeks, and she didn’t look at Esme. “She threatened to expose me if I didn’t have sex with her. I never want to feel that powerless again in my life. Something within me just snapped. When you spoke about the night of Olaf’s wedding, claimed publicly that I was…that I assaulted you, it broke my heart. I would never have done to you what Georgina did to me. And you know it.” Finally, a wave of inner strength rose from within her, and she looked into Esme’s eyes. 

“I think I understand,” the other woman said quietly, “Oh my dear, this town, its people, the things that have happened. Its all insanity! And my perverse life is at the center of it all, a deplorable freakshow.” As Esme said that word, she relinquished it harshly, as though it had left behind a foul taste in her mouth. To Olivia’s amazement, Esme began to crumble before her eyes, sobbing and inconsolable. Despite the depth of her emotion, she still attempted to speak, “My family was right to lock me away in the asylum. They did it because I couldn’t quit with other women. They knew I was a shameful freak. Don’t you see? The way I am, it has ruined my life.”  
Esme was practically choking as she reached, once more, for the treacherous box of blades beside her. Olivia rushed to her side and forcefully pulled the box from Esme’s grasping fingers. “You’re wrong! What your family did was despicable, Esme. There is no one more stunning—in every way--than you. Locking you away is a disservice to all of society. If you do this horrible thing to yourself, why, Mineral Springs will never recover.”

Esme snorted derisively, “That sounds fair.”

Olivia gave a shuddering sigh, “I will never recover,” she said simply. 

Esme shook her head, “Yes you will, Darling. If nothing else, you’ve proven yourself immeasurably strong.”

“To know you is to love you. And no one who has ever loved you will recover if you do something so stupid. Your life is not a freakshow, it is the most natural and beautiful life I have ever seen. You have allowed your desires to lead you to outrageous, remarkable places. It is what I want from my life,” Olivia stopped, breathless, “Esme, don’t end as Georgina did, full of hate and bitterness. Help me show the world that there is a place for women like us, that we aren’t perverse.”

Though she was quiet, Olivia could sense that something had shifted in Esme. There was a beat of silence before she reached toward Olivia, “Help me up,” she said.

Relief warmed Olivia’s body, “I’ll help you with anything in the world, you know that.”

She helped Esme to find her feet and then to locate her clothing, which, in a fit of distress, she had apparently scattered everywhere. Olivia stared into the depths of the steaming bath while Esme dressed, and, for the first time that evening, she was not reminded of Georgina. When she turned back, she found that Esme was staring at her. Despite her disheveled appearance, she looked more herself in her evening gown. “Olivia, I wish we had met earlier—or differently. I don’t know. But I will not forget you.”

“You don’t have to leave town, Esme. This city would never be the same without you. Don’t lose your senses.”

Esme shook her head, “I haven’t, my darling. But it is time for me to go. Perhaps I’ll do as you ask, try to find a place in the world for women like you and me, but it can’t be here.”

Olivia knew that all the words in the world would not change Esme’s mind. “I’ll miss you terribly,” she said weakly. 

Esme walked over to her and placed a firm kiss on her forehead. Then, together, they walked out of the bathhouse and went their separate ways into the night. On the way home, Olivia felt into the depths of her pocket for the razor blades and was relieved to find that they were still there. Sleep did not come that evening, so lost was she in the depths of her own mind. When morning came, she at last drifted into a kind of restless doze. 

xxx

For a while, the talk of the town was Esme Squalor’s mysterious disappearance. Many were surprised that she had made good on her promise to leave once and for all. She had left no trace behind, which was rather unlike her, and it added to the mystery of the situation. However, like most mysteries that remain unsolved, this one too eventually lost the public interest. Celebrity is cruel; where once no one could venture anywhere in Mineral Springs without hearing Esme Squalor’s name, now it was almost as if she had never existed. Olaf carried on with his same conniving tricks, despite the undeniably good influence of his wife and new baby girl. Jerome Squalor continued teaching and attracting new creative writing students to Tinchlin University, though many critics commented that his work had lost the distinct sparkle it had had when he had been married to Esme. Jerome never mentioned Esme to Olivia, though he occasionally flinched when he noticed traces of his ex- wife in his pupil’s work. Jacquelyn collected her pride and asked Olivia if she still desired a future. Olivia, of course, immediately agreed. Life was absolutely ordinary, and yet it wasn’t, and indeed, never truly could be again. 

Nevertheless, Olivia was determined to continue to find beauty in this wild and reckless city. Though she was approaching the conclusion of her graduate degree, the thought of leaving Mineral Springs now seemed appalling to her, and she began to imagine a future there. Though she felt surprisingly grieved at the thought of leaving her studio apartment, her sanctuary above the ice cream shop on Bathhouse Lane, she had begun to consider perhaps getting a house on the outskirts of the city and having more space. Her interest in a house was due to the fact that a future with Jacquelyn seemed, to her delight, inevitable. Jacquelyn too often spoke to her as though she longed for nothing else. One night, as the pair were sitting on her balcony, Olivia said aloud, “You won’t miss the opportunity for children if you come with me? You won’t miss the traditional things?”

Jacquelyn sat quietly, as if considering Olivia’s words. “I think I might if I were sacrificing them for anyone but you,” she smiled ruefully, “You know I’m not a traditional sort of girl.”

Olivia chuckled, “That’s why I love you, dearest. Listen, I know this may not seem like the right time for this, but I often wonder if there could be a right time—for a matter such as this one, I mean---I…well, Jacquelyn, my muse, my dove, my darling, will you be my wife?”

Jacquelyn’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. The implications of Olivia’s proposal were astounding. “You would live as a man forever? For me?” 

“Oh Jackie, you know everyone knows now. I’ll have to marry you dressed as a man, but what difference does that make? It is just a formality at this point. Don’t leave me in suspense. What do you say? Do you want to make a go of it with me?” Olivia held her breath, though Jacquelyn’s answer was already glistening in her eyes. 

“Yes!” Jacquelyn cried, leaning in for a deep kiss, “Yes, I can imagine nothing that would make me happier.”

Olivia felt paradoxically light and heavy as Jacquelyn pulled her into an embrace. 

xxx

Jacquelyn wanted to be married in springtime, when the magnolias were fully in bloom. The wedding was to be a small affair. Though people had come to tolerate the idea of Olivia and Jacquelyn living together, no one wanted to celebrate it exactly. Jerome did offer to come, but, in the end, the couple decided they wanted the intimacy of a private ceremony. A judge agreed to marry them under the pretense that, of course, Olivia would continue to live as a man, going out in public dressed in men’s attire, inhabiting a kind of female husband role. Olivia knew she was not the first to do such a thing, and she agreed to the conditions. They were to be married out of doors, in a park near Lake Davidson beneath the shade of Jacquelyn’s beloved magnolias. 

The night before the marriage, Jerome insisted on hosting a rehearsal dinner at his home. The majority of Olivia’s writer colleagues were set to attend. When she and Jacquelyn caught a taxi to Jerome’s manor, they were astounded by the state of the place. It was quite a different home than it had been before Esme’s departure. In fact, though it was impossible not to think of her there, it was simultaneously difficult to imagine that she had ever been there at all. The walls were bare—no longer home to the eccentric art Jerome’s wife had loved. There were no more fashionable curtains, the fine china had vanished. Olivia wondered how miserable it must have been for Jerome to remove those items one by one. She supposed the pain of parting with them could not compare with the pain of keeping them, and she understood his decision. 

Though the décor in Jerome’s sitting room had changed, Olivia quickly found it to be the merry place she had remembered. The students were chatting happily, and cheered her kindly when she expressed her joy at the thought of marrying Jacquelyn, a joy she could feel in her bones. The champagne made her feel warm and, for the first time since arriving in Mineral Springs, Olivia felt she could be completely open with a crowd. She spoke of how isolated she had been in disguise, and some of the other poets seemed inspired by it. Jacquelyn clung to her for the entire evening, always at her side. At times, Olivia longed for space, but not strongly enough to risk hurting her sweetheart again. This was their evening, the first night of the rest of their lives. 

Jerome was the last to make a toast to Olivia. He stood up—rather grandly, Olivia thought—at the front of the room, and cleared his throat. He spoke of Olivia, of her work, her passion, his delight in teaching her. Though his speech was sensational enough on its own, the way in which it ended struck Olivia deep within. Jerome looked toward the soon to be wedded couple and said, “Olivia, Jacquelyn, it has been such a pleasure to get to know you better and better this past year. Your love and boldness have convinced me that there is still some magic left in Mineral Springs. If this is a place where you can live according to your love, then it isn’t as despicable as I believed all of those years. Maybe not all of its magic is as dark as I once feared.”

Jacquelyn clutched Olivia’s arm and kissed her on the cheek. Olivia, moved to emotion, cried out, “You’re magical, Jerome!” She gazed about the room, seeing the assembled guests as if she were looking at them for the first time. “You’re all magical!” She turned and glanced at the foyer, where, a year and a half earlier, she had seen Esme rush off to the races with Olaf. “It has all been magic. I wouldn’t change anything.”

xxx

For the sake of tradition, Olivia and Jacquelyn agreed to sleep apart the evening before the wedding. Jacquelyn kissed her fiercely and promised her an “extraordinary” wedding night, something Olivia could not help but anticipate warmly. Once they parted, Olivia found that the excitement of the night was still with her, and she walked, as she once had often done, to Gertude’s down the street from her flat. When she entered the club, she noted that the majority of its members were quite interested in the burlesque dancers on the stage. She ordered a drink and watched for a moment, until she noticed Violet McReggens a few tables over. When Violet saw her, she waved and motioned for Olivia to come and take a seat beside her. Olivia obliged, and squeezed in beside the petite beauty. “Olivia,” she said excitedly, “I know the big day is tomorrow. Whatever are you doing here?”

“Oh Violet, I’ve just had the most wonderful night at Jerome’s. I’m so excited I can’t sleep!” 

Violet clasped Olivia’s hand. “That makes me terribly happy. You know, Olaf mentions often that he wishes you well. I guess he’s too proud to say it in public---I’m working on that—but he admires you.”

“You know, there is a part of me that is beginning to think I admire him too,” Olivia said drolly, “Give him my best.”

“Certainly! You know, this club feels cleaner now.” Violet mused, “The energy is different.” 

Olivia shook her head. “I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.”

Violet clasped her hand more tightly. “It is good, of course! There is always magic in the new.”

Olivia looked at her desperately, “Is there? How I want to believe you are right.”

Violet’s expression was sympathetic. “I know I’m right about this. You deserve a new beginning too and tomorrow, with Jacquelyn, you get one. This town will recover, and you will too.”

Olivia brought Violet’s hand to her mouth and kissed it. 

xxx  
It was pleasantly warm with a mild breeze on the morning of the wedding. Olivia dressed in her best suit, and dressed slowly, leisurely contemplating what Violet and Jerome had said the night before: there is still magic, there is magic in beginning anew. The words rang true in her heart, and a kind of light energy that felt suspiciously like peace flowed through her. She had not slept long the previous night, but she had slept exceptionally well. As she smoked and enjoyed her coffee, she realized that she didn’t care that she had to marry Jacquelyn as “Oliver” out of formality. She was marrying her love, and everyone knew it. 

There was a distinct ring as the mailman dropped off a letter on the landing. Olivia went to fetch it absent mindedly, though her legs froze when she saw the handwriting on the envelope. At once, the heady peace that had so characterized the morning threatened to recede into the shadows. Nevertheless, there was no way Olivia could leave the letter unopened. Hands trembling, she tore the envelope’s seal, swallowed the burning sensation in her throat, and read. The letter, as it turns out, was no more than a single line: Darling, thank you for showing me what a fabulous freakshow life is. I will think of you always. Love you madly—E.

As Olivia read the note, a sudden calm rushed over her. Esme was alive and okay. For all of these months, a part of her had wondered and feared, but now no longer. There was also, Olivia knew, a tiny part of her heart that longed to run to Esme’s side and never again leave. She believed it was likely that that tiny part of her would always exist, would always love Esme. Reconciliation, however, was not what Esme had intended, and neither would Olivia want it if faced with the possibility, not truly. With all the passion of a lover, Olivia pulled the note to her chest, and, though there was no one there to hear her, she said “I love you too. Forever.” She placed the note in a box containing the majority of her poetry from the previous year and, with a spring in her step, she exited her apartment, off to meet her exquisitely beautiful wife and the promise of future magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who read this story! <3 It meant a lot to me. I hope you keep well in these strange times.


End file.
